Avenger
by CharredFox
Summary: For some, it's a quest to prove themselves: a quest to wear the honorable rune armor, to say "I defeated the dragon of Crandor!" For him, it's a quest for revenge. Dragon beware: the last warrior of Crandor is coming.
1. Chapter 1

Avenger

_A/N: For some, it's a quest to prove themselves; a quest for the right to wear the envied rune armor. For him, it's a quest for revenge. Dragon, beware…the last warrior of Crandor is coming. I do not own Jagex, Runescape, or any characters from that game. Geoff, though, is mine, as a character but not a username._

"Who else wants it?" Swinging his battleaxe around his head, the air singing in his ears, Geoff roared his challenge to the helmeted barbarians around him. Any sane man would've quickly backed away from the raging fiend, fire in his eyes and blood on his armor, but these were barbarians, not known for nothing as the scourge of the Civilized World. Three brawny, spear-wielding warriors charged him down the length of the hall, roaring as they ran.

As drunk with the blood on his blade as he was with the ale in his glass, Geoff whirled his weapon down, slamming the head of the axe into the leading warrior's head, blunt edge first, with enough force to crush his skull. The momentum carried him past the falling body, where he had to twist sideways to avoid the spears of the oncoming two barbarians. One of the spears grazed his stomach, and he instinctively leaned forwards, in time to slam into the barbarian himself, who, taken by surprise, was caught momentarily off guard.

They slammed into the table, and rolled over it, with Geoff landing on the ground, the huge spear-wielding man on top of him. Inwardly grateful for the protection of a full-helm, he arched his neck and slammed the forehead of his opponent with all the strength he could muster, just as the third warrior vaulted the long table, his spear angled straight for Geoff's shoulder. The long wooden weapon pierced both sides of his armor, pinning him to the ground, but with his left arm free. He slammed the barbarian again with his forehead, and managed to shift the man off of him, out cold. Just as he did so, he realized why it was a bad move.

Through the visor, the bearded face of a huge barbarian loomed, spear poised, and one foot firmly on his chest. Behind the imposing beard and horned helmet, the man was clearly laughing in triumph as he drew back his weapon for the kill. Geoff flexed his shoulder in a vain attempt to dislodge the spear, which only resulted in a stab of pain throughout the right side of his body.

As the spear came hurtling down towards his neck, Geoff, ignoring the pain in his right shoulder, threw every bit of his remaining strength into his shield arm and thrust his shield upwards, directly at the oncoming metal point. He saw, for just a flash, the barbarian's eyes widen in surprise under his helmet, and then the shield blocked his vision. Again, the momentum of his thrust saved him, as the barbarian was knocked back, and the spear broke off in his shoulder as he rolled over it… painfully.

The shield slipped out of his grasp to hurtle over the table, landing some ten feet away, but he didn't wait to watch it fly. He had already grabbed his battleaxe with his left hand, and pushed himself back to his feet. Snarling, Geoff turned to face off the stunned northern warrior again, now with blood pouring out of his shoulder, around a splintered piece of wood.

The man hefted his spear, the tip somewhat blunted, now, and let out a deep, guttural bellow. Geoff smiled grimly and lifted his axe. "Not done yet?" He turned to one side and spit, leaving a red puddle next to the broken spear.

Then, without warning, the barbarian hurled his spear, directly at his head. Geoff whipped his head to the left, barely leaving a second to spare, as the weapon tore a hole in his helmet and a chunk out of his ear in the process. Seizing his opportunity, he lunged forward, swinging his axe in a downward arc, which chopped the man's head, a piece of his arm, and a substantial part of his chest off of his body.

A heavy silence fell on the hall, as Geoff stood, leaning hard on his axe to stay upright, and those who had not taken part in the brawl looked on. Finally, when it seemed the tension could not stretch any further, he picked his axe up, wiped it carefully on the tunic of his nearest opponent, and limped around the table to retrieve his shield. It took him a few moments to get it onto his back, during which people slowly began to talk again.

As he walked out the hall doors, he paused next to the table where he'd been sitting. There was still an inch of ale in the glass. The man who'd been across from him, and watched the entire fight, stared in disbelief as Geoff picked up the glass, drained the last of his drink, and dropped it back on the table before stalking out of the hall.

Geoff smiled grimly to himself as he walked, head bowed against the stinging wind. It was a fairly short walk out of the barbarians' settlement, and he knew a place where they could fix up this shoulder. He glanced at the sky, and shook his head. Looked about ready to start up with the sleet again. Damn. It'd probably be dark by the time he reached the Monastery, at this rate.

The tattered flags loomed ahead of him, down the street of frozen mud. Lounging around the poles were a handful of guards, man and woman alike, looking bored and irritable. Geoff considered mentioning something about the disappointing lack of challenging fights around here, but his shoulder gave a nasty twinge as he reached the entrance, and he thought better of it. As he cleared the spear wall surrounding the settlement, there was an ominous rumble from the gray skies, and a pellet of ice landed on his arm, splashing tiny drops of blood onto his face. Geoff grimaced and shifted his armor as he stepped off the rough dirt road towards the evergreen forest. The trees had long shed their snow coverings, and the whole landscape stood before him like a shadow over the road, darkly pushing its way into his vision.

There were no paths in this area, at least not to the untrained eye. But the deer tracked their way through the forests, regardless of man's passing, and the barely visible paths of the hunters who followed them were enough for Geoff in the failing light. He paused, under the eaves of the outermost trees to remove his helmet, hooking it beside his shield. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in its clouded surface and almost laughed aloud. He'd forgotten the barbarians' lack of concern for anything resembling hygiene. His face was dark with sweat and dust, and stubble covered most of his chin. His hair had managed to grow down to his shoulders, and had somehow managed to meld to his helmet, giving him a look not unlike the barbarians he'd recently dispatched.

…Except without the blood. The moment of lightness passed, and Geoff picked up his axe again and stepped into the shadows of the forest just as the storm broke, in a furious wave of tumbling ice. The tops of the trees shook wildly, pouring streams of ice down into the lower branches. Geoff hurried his steps, brushing past the undergrowth around his path. He glanced up, and shook his head, as the sky visibly darkened. Shuddering, he hurried still more.

High above his head, the wind rustled the branches into hissing, hissing, whistling sounds. Almost like… the unwelcome thought made its way into his mind. Like wings, in the night, swooping towards you. A sharp crack some way behind him sounded, and Geoff whirled, axe held high.

"Damn it!" He stared at the branch which had just fallen into the path behind him, his grip on the axe slowly loosening. The knot in his chest relaxed, and he turned back north to continue his trek.

Several hours later, with his temper as thin as the ice on his hair was thick, Geoff found himself in a small clearing of fallen trees. He yawned widely, and then, realizing with a cold suddenness how fatigued he was, swore. If he didn't pick up the pace… well, there weren't many humans in these parts to finish off a wounded man, but no one could speak for the beasts, this far north. He glanced down at the bit of wood still sticking out of his shoulder and sighed. For just a moment, he was grateful for the ice storm, keeping the bloodthirsty creatures in their dens.

With a resigned half-shrug, he stretched his arm briefly and continued, back under the trees' relative shelter, towards the distant monastery. Plodding on through the ankle-deep slush of ice and snow, he was aware that his boots had finally succumbed to the will of the North and embraced the ice. He shivered and wished for a tent, a meal, anything… hot. He'd always been derisive of the wizardly arts, but damn, a teleport spell would be really handy right now.

Geoff stifled another yawn and began to consider simply taking the risk of stopping for the night under one of the larger trees, providing there wasn't a bear or unicorn under it. He had actually started to look for lower branches he'd be able to lop off one-armed before he realized that the trees were beginning to thin out.

Barely able to conceal his triumphant grin, Geoff pushed aside the final few branches and emerged from the forest… into a blinding, stinging wall of ice. He quickly backed up a few steps and pulled his helmet back on, shoving it roughly over his head as the ice on his hair crackled under the pressure. As the visor slammed down over his face, he saw the tall stone building off to the West, and this time, did grin widely as he turned away from the ridge and forest.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Same disclaimer as chapter one; also, I do not know the usernames mentioned in this chapter. Neither are they mine. They probably don't know this story exists, and the behavior of the characters with their names is not theirs. The characters are mine._

The storm had begun to subside, and the moon was giving off a faint blue glow overhead when the tall figure walked up the stairs and into the monastery courtyard. Brother Karl, walking out of the rose garden, held up his lamp to see a menacingly helmeted figure with a huge axe silhouetted against the arch over the stairs.

"Who's there?" He took a few cautious steps forward, raising the lamp. "Announce yourself, stranger!"

The figure strode forward a step and slipped off the full helmet, revealing a narrow, sharp face framed with long brown hair, and speckled with dust, sweat, and blood. "That you, Karl?"

"Geoffrey!" The monk lowered his lamp and walked up to the arch, grinning under his hood. He stopped short as he took in the full appearance of his friend. "Pain of Zaros, Geoff, what have you been doing?"

A slightly sheepish note found its way into his face as he followed the monk into one of the doors off to the side. "I spent a few weeks in the Barbarian village…"

Karl shook his head and laughed, pulling his hood off as they entered the complex of buildings. "You, my friend, are taking a lot of chances these days." He turned to face the taller man and put a hand on his shoulder. "One of these days, that shield won't be enough for the latest wave of scorpions, Geoff."

Geoff showed a rare, wide grin and handed his helmet to his friend. "Scorpions don't attack me anymore, Karl. I'm too high for them." He slowly, painfully slipped his full plate armor and shield off and followed the monk into the hallways deeper into the building. The other man shook his head as they progressed, following the flickering torchlight up the ladder.

"Point taken. Down here, to the left." The tall fighter followed Karl into a well-lit room, well outfitted with beds and medical herbs. "You'll have to take it easy for a few days, Geoff. This isn't a quick fix kind of wound."

He groaned as he stretched out on the bed, wincing slightly. "You just want me here so you can keep me out of trouble." Karl laughed and walked over to the table nearby. Geoff grumbled under his breath. "Goody-good monks. I guess I've got no choice…"

Karl raised an eyebrow at him as he returned with a poultice and some strange looking instruments. "You don't unless you want that arm amputated. Now hold still, this is going to hurt… rather a lot, at that."

Geoff clenched his jaw in pain as the young monk reached down and, with slow, careful movements, began to work the spear tip and shaft out of his flesh. Karl frowned as he managed the first bit of progress in a long, long night. He shook his head, silently thanking Saradomin that the spear hadn't been half an inch to the left… or to the right.

Dawn found Geoff sleeping, fitfully and plagued by nightmares, as Karl slept in the Ward's bed at the end of the room. Abbot Langley stood at the tall window at the end of the room, and sighed deeply as he looked on. He remembered when Geoff had first come to the Monastery, some four years ago. The boy had been so much smaller then, wielding a black dagger and clothed in leather armor; barely five feet, and all bone. He'd looked somewhat akin to one of the dead trees in the more northern zones, malnourished, scrawny, and too tall for his body to really handle. He'd been nearly killed in a fight with one of the thieves who denned north of Falador—what exactly the youth had been doing around them, the monks never asked.

Since that day, Geoff had grown into himself—and his warrior spirit. The world they lived in was not a peaceful one by any means, and trouble could come to any—but Geoff seemed to have a penchant for seeking it out. His friends among the Monastery joked with him about his constant battles, but there were definite undertones of concern. Only the Abbot and Brother Stephan knew his origins; they'd briefly wondered if Geoff even knew, himself, but since then, he'd unwittingly proved that the dragon's ravishing of his land had left deep scars on his spirit, scars that he would probably carry for life.

Even now, as Abbot Langley looked on, he wondered if it was a swooping, reptilian monster that chased Geoff in his dreams, as he tossed and turned, feverishly pale. On a moment's further thought, the Abbot brought a cool cloth over to the bed and swabbed his face, gratified by the momentary calm which appeared on the young man's hard features.

"Abbot?" He turned, to see Karl rubbing his eyes, sitting on the edge of his bed. The Abbot smiled and walked back over to the window. Karl stood and stretched, shaking off his sleep. "He came in last night from the Barbarian's village. I guess it was another brawl in the Long Hall."

He nodded and gestured to the spear tip, lying beside him on the table. "I guessed as much. Will he be alright?"

"If he can manage to rest for the next few days, he'll be fine." The monk stood and donned his brown habit. "I don't know, though, he might decide it's not worth it."

The Abbot nodded and pushed out the window, letting in a fresh breeze. "Oh, I think he'll stay a while, this time." He glanced down at the figure on the bed, who was once more tossing, his face twitching constantly. "Between you and me, I think he needs a rest in more than one way, for now."

Karl nodded. "I hope so. Anyway, I'll wait around here until he wakes up, and give him the second dose for that shoulder wound."

"Did you get all the splinters out last night?"

He nodded again, and reached for the spear shaft. "Look how long this is, though! I can't imagine how he managed to get into that mess." The Abbot smiled and shook his head.

"Alright, Karl. I'll see you this afternoon, then, on the grounds?" He nodded. "A pleasant morning, Brother."

"And to you, Abbot." As the older man left the room, Karl sank down on the bed next to his prone friend's. He sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly. Geoff shouldn't wake up alone, in any case. And… he wanted to hear this story, for sure. It was always good to know where the tall warrior had been, although he'd prefer to hear his friend's battle stories under slightly less painful circumstances.

Some half-hour or so later, he heard a noise and looked down to see Geoff staring around him, slightly bewildered. "…Karl?"

He grinned, rather relieved, and hurried over to his bedside. "Geoff! I'm glad you're awake. How do you feel?"

"I'm alright. Sore… a bit. But it's alright, feeling much better." He made as if to rise, and fell back immediately. "Perhaps more than a bit sore?"

Karl stifled a grin and shook his head sternly. Same old Geoff. "Here, take this—" he reached down to pull off the bandage he'd applied last night, handing his friend a mug of herbal tea. He winced at the sight of the wound—it was healing nicely, but looked twice as bad in the morning light from the window as the bits he'd been able to see by torchlight the night before.

The gesture did not go unnoticed. "Something wrong?"

He checked himself and shook his head, smiling wryly. "Well, I didn't notice some of this when I bandaged you last night. It's a bit worse than I thought, is all. You'll be stuck here for some time, like I said."

Geoff sighed and slumped over the bed. "Karl… this isn't good." The monk raised one eyebrow at him, and he shrugged, at least halfway. "I can't stay here!"

"Huh. Is that so, Geoffrey Dawnsen? You can't stay in this hellish stone-walled prison for one more day?"

"…You absolute fiend. How did such a villain as yourself get your filthy hands on that robe?" Geoff had to laugh at the irony. It was entirely unfair, though, and he told Karl as much. "Using the words of a foolish – though devilishly handsome – lad against his older and wiser self!"

Karl laughed helplessly and shook his head. "You're impossible, Geoff. But in any case, a week of boredom is worth the use of your right arm, so you're staying here." He raised one hand against any protest. "No. The break from your daily bloodbath will be good for you."

Geoff rolled his eyes, but admitted defeat. "I guess you're right, then. Abbot's command, in any case?"

He smiled and turned to the windowsill to retrieve a few leaves from a plant that grew there. "You're not a fourteen-year-old kid anymore, Geoff. The Abbot strongly recommends that you stay at least until you're healed, but he can't force you."

This stroke hit home, and the young warrior sighed. "Fair enough, then. How long d'you think I'll be here?"

Karl made sure that he was out of reach of his friend's left arm before replying. "At least fifteen days."

Geoff stared at the stone ceiling above him, bracing himself for near half a month of the same. It was going to be a long, long two weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_A/N: In which our hero finds out something he didn't know, and his entire life changes. Also, a bit of background and plot exposition, as well as an insight into the mind of our warrior friend, as well as the author's venting her frustration with players who don't seem to have a vocabulary outside of "noob, nerd, mom," and random pieces of netspeak. (I'm still bitter that no one's made the connection of my username to Lewis's Space Trilogy, although I'll admit to having accidentally left out an I in the spelling. But still!)_

"Stop fussing, Karl! I really can get down on my own!" Geoff shrugged the arm off his shoulder, hiding his wince as he did so, and continued down the ladder, leaning heavily to the left.

They headed into the dining hall, and sat down towards the windows, in the eastern part of the room. When the Abbot had done speaking, they ate—a simple meal, dark rye bread, cabbage, and sheep's milk. Geoff could remember times in his youth when he'd complained about this fare, but at the moment, he realized, he'd rather be here, eating boiled cabbage, than in Varrock Palace, eating swordfish. Karl grinned at him from across the table, and he found himself grinning back, almost a reflex action.

"So can I expect your company at the table for the next few days, friend?" He looked up to see the old Abbot standing there, smiling down at him. For just one moment, a wave of nostalgia washed over him, and then he swallowed and responded, smiling again, briefly.

"I'd hoped to be on my way by tomorrow, but it looks like you're stuck with me until Friday, sir."

Abbot Langley placed a hand on his healthy shoulder with a smile. "That's no trouble at all, Geoffrey. Would you mind stopping by to see me before you move on? I'd like to have a word with you."

Geoff smiled and nodded as the Abbot moved on. "Of course, sir." He glanced back across the table to see Karl barely concealing his grin. "Got a problem there, mate?"

The monk shook his head, still grinning. "Course not, friend."

Muttering under his breath, he turned back to his plate.

Some days later, the warrior stood in his room, staring out the long, translucent window of the ward. The pale sky looked peaceful, almost full of goodwill. Everything did, as a matter of fact, from here. The wilderness, in all its darkness and stark, deadly contrast, was hidden from view by the flocks of sheep and rose gardens, below. They'd have you believe it, here; that strange, optimistic view of life. They'd have you believe that all of life was like this, that good things happened to good people, that life was fair and just—pray, bury the bones of your enemies and life will be good to you.

He knew better. On the ice mountain, visible in the distance from the more westerly of the monastery windows, lay the fortress of the Dark Knights, who plotted constantly to overthrow all order. Not quite two miles to the north, chaos reigned and honor was nothing more than the what the word of the strongest fighter said. And… somewhere, out in that pale blue sky, there was a dragon circling the charred village where peace once reigned. Somewhere, in the murky waters of the past, a wave of fire, death, and destruction had razed an entire civilization to the ground, leaving only ashes, pain, and despair. What god could allow such a world to continue? What god had created the monsters of this world, the dragons, the realms of fire where all life perished? What god claiming even the slightest conscience could look on all of this and let it be? What god could watch the meaningless slaughter of innocent monks by ignorant men and be silent?

This chapel, this aura of peace, and these monks with their tireless songs to Saradomin, this was not the real world. He knew better. He had seen reality, in sweeping blows dealt innocent men from bloodthirsty savages desperate for gold, by whatever means. No lightning had fallen on their heads, no wave of devastation. The man inevitably crumbled, leaving a pile of bones and a few gold coins. Geoff refused to believe that a god existed in this world called Runescape.

A cheerful voice from the doorway broke through his mood, startling him. "How're you feeling, then?"

He shrugged off his thoughts and turned to face his friend. "Quite well, Karl! I can actually rotate a full circle, and the elbow's good as new." He raised his arm to demonstrate, wincing slightly at the apex. "It'll be a while before I can swing an axe again, though, which rather… well, there's a life outside of quests and melee."

Karl raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh?"

Smothering a grin, he nodded. "Oh indeed, master Karl! There's archery, wizardry, slaying, hunting…" he broke off with a chuckle as the monk rolled his eyes. "Ah, there's a thousand ways of earning your bread 'round here, Karl. I've a fair few points in cooking, and it never hurts to bolster that, 's well as fishing, crafting… you know. I'm not a complete barbarian, mate."

He quirked a smile. "Arguably."

Geoff laughed outright and raised his good arm threateningly. "Isn't there some sort of rule about disturbing the ill, here?"

Karl snickered as he left the room, calling over his shoulder, "The only place you're ill is in the head, Geoffrey!"

The tall warrior shook his head as Karl left the room, his robes swishing behind him. They'd known each other for a very long time, and Karl was one of the very few people around whom Geoff let down his guard at all. It wasn't something he condoned, letting down one's guard; in the wilderness, a smile in the wrong place could get you killed—not an exaggeration, either. Trust was earned, not given, in this world, as Geoff knew better than anyone.

He sat down on the windowsill, sighing. His gear was all down in the stores, awaiting his recovery. But leaping straight back into battle with a wounded arm didn't quite seem the move of a sane man. Outside, voices echoed up to his perch, back and forth. The cool stone on the back of his head seemed to counteract their effect on his mind.

"Your a noob!"

"Your moms a noob you ----"

"Maybe you should both just shut up?"

"U can shut up nerd"

"Noooooooooooob noone wants 2 hear u so ---- of"

"Duel me now then u ----"

"Noob go somewehr eles"

"Ah, ---- this, I'd rather waste a lobster than stay here."

"Noone told u 2 be hear noob"

"Who r u calln a noob?!!1"

"Ur mom ---- --- u noob"

As the voices grew in tension… and volume… Geoff's head began to throb. Violence wasn't something condoned here. But honestly, enough was enough, how long were they going to stand there and blab about their mothers? He idly considered counting the number of times they used the word "noob," and in what variations, but realized how quickly .he would lose track, and dropped the idea.

He'd just decided against slaughtering the both of them as revenge for his current headache, simply out of respect for the laws of the monastery, when their next lines made his blood run cold.

"Dude no dont kill him yet"

"Y noob i need the xp"

"Ya but he hasnt healed me yet"

…Oh no. Oh no, no they for _sure_ did not just say what he thought they did.

With one swift leap, he was out the door, yanking his armor on, albeit with a bit of pain, as he ran. Sliding down the ladder, he glanced around, desperately wishing for his axe and shield back. He could probably beat these two without weapon and shield, but it wasn't exactly a good idea. …Maybe they'd flee? It wouldn't be the first time.

"Karl! Karl! I need my axe!" He shouted the length of the corridor, both ways, hoping his friend was in earshot. A breathless voice at his elbow proved otherwise.

"Geoff! Karl went outside… I think he ran into two hostile players! What do we do, Geoff, he's helpless!" The younger monk—barely old enough for the robes—was close to panic, wringing his hands and almost shouting at him. Under any other circumstances, it would've been pretty funny.

"John, I need my axe." He spoke as calmly as he could, trying to keep from losing control; wounding himself for no reason wouldn't help Karl at all. "Can you go get it? Please? I can save Karl, but _I need my axe_."

"It's in the case, over the bookshelf—come on!" John took off down the hall, nearly tripping over his robes. Geoff followed, sprinting to keep up. "The shield's there, too," he called over one shoulder. Geoff allowed himself a grin. _Now_ they were getting somewhere.

The younger man pointed to the top of the shelf, panting heavily. Geoff nodded his thanks and yanked his weapon and shield out of the case with ease, arming himself as he ran back towards the central courtyard as fast as he could.

A few moments later, he arrived in the courtyard, axe and shield in hand, to find Karl with about twelve hitpoints left, beset by one sword-wielding level 24 player while the other, armed with a scimitar, looked on. "Nubletslayer, is it? You'll want to face me and fight… now, before I lose my temper."

"Omg what is that dude?"

The two rapidly examined him, and he smiled grimly. He appeared as simply "Geoff" but his description read "Holds up passersby," which was close enough to truth for him to let slide. The thing about was? He was classified as a quest related random event. Depending on how the player he came across acted, he'd earned a double reputation (where he'd even been heard of, which was rare; most people didn't know he existed). One was as a godsend, able to see through any puzzle and friendly to the point of guarding low-level skill-grinding players.. The other… more like a thunderbolt sent by the devil himself, who would, out of the blue, attack a player with relentless precision until they found themselves in Lumbridge. Very few people had ever worked out his motives, or what exactly made him so angry. (Which was mainly stupidity, cruelty, and people who don't take 'no' for an answer… though he'd also attack skillbots, sometimes, just for the fun of it.)

"I dont kno ill check tipit"

"Man theirs no entrr for him"

"Nubletslayer, I'm waiting." Another wet noise as the sword connected with Karl's rib cage, and another four hitpoints down. Geoff had had enough.

Nubletslayer suddenly found her day get just a little bit worse as a huge battleaxe slammed into his character, sending him back a pace. "What the hell, man? Who is this guy?" She was afraid to leave the page for a quick search of a guide page.

"Waht is this hes totaly killin me!!!" The character put up a feeble block to Geoff's continuing attacks, but found himself hitting straight zeros, although the character's health seemed to be already a few bars lower than max, oddly enough.

"Oho, that's right. You can take out helpless monks, but Saradomin forbid you're attacked by someone higher level than you!" Geoff threw his rage, his fury, and every emotion connected with the blood on his closest friend's robes behind his blows. The hapless Nubletslayer quickly succumbed to the onslaught.

"Lol man hes gonna kill u for sure!" Bobbydogs stared on, laughing, completely unaware of his danger.

His words came true a moment later, as the figure crumpled to the ground, leaving behind most of his armor, a pile of bones, and some lobsters. He walked over to loot his fallen bones (before burying them, of course—why refuse free points?) Before he'd gotten through the first set, though, she found herself under attack. This time, there was no conversation—no players left to ask for advice. He noticed an option "Talk to Geoffrey," though, and clicked that as the blows fell.

"Who are you?"

He grinned savagely. "I am Geoffrey."

…That didn't work. He tried again. "Why do you attack players?"

This time, the image of his face was laughing uproariously as he answered. "Why not?"

Turning, he ran for her life, down the front steps, towards the forest. He fell behind, and eventually let the player go. With any luck, the barbarians would take him down. As for Geoff—there were more important things at stake. He ran back up the stairs, to where Karl was leaning on the bench inside the hall, gasping. John and another monk, Stephen, stood over him, eyes closed in meditation as they reached for healing powers deep within.

"Geoff… Thank you."

He smiled, reached down, and clasped his friend's hand. "Anytime, Karl." They exchanged a look—it was understood. Karl could heal, Geoff could fight. They were friends.

Later that day, he sat on the slope, watching the sheep graze, the wilderness looming beyond. His thoughts wandered, between the grimy wool of the sheep there, to the small imp lurking just outside the monastery's walls, to the fountains of Lumbridge Palace, where the dead players respawned. A voice behind him interrupted his thoughts, but it was a welcome interruption.

"Geoffrey, might I have a word? It's not about the fight—though I thank you, for saving Karl's life, and probably Stephen's as well; they rarely kill just one monk."

Geoff stood and nodded, smiling at the Abbot. "It's nothing, Father. As long as I'm here, you are under my protection. Players take far too much of their safety for granted as it is."

He laughed and turned to lead the way, deeper into the halls of the monastery. "Ah, I wouldn't necessarily disagree with you there, Geoffrey, though you carry that farther than I would. But we have things to discuss—I'm sorry to hold you back like this, but I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to leave without first speaking to you."

Confused, Geoff followed him into the monk's cell where he had spent quite a few years of his youth, and sat down on the bed, opposite the chair the Abbot had chosen. It was a bit dark in here, despite the bluish light from the ceiling—all glass—but private, which, he assumed, had something to do with the Abbot's topic of conversation. He took a breath, steeled himself, and waited for his erstwhile mentor to begin.

The abbot closed his eyes briefly; this was not one of the easier conversations of his life, but it had to be said. With a deep breath, he smiled at the warrior before him and began. "Geoffrey… I have an… acquaintance, for lack of a better word, who lives a fair way to the east of this monastery. You've spoken with the Master of the Guild of Champions, so you may have heard his name: Oziach?"

Puzzled, Geoff nodded. "He's part of the final quest, isn't he? But I've no use for that quest, Father; I only wear my own armor, and I've only reached the adamant skill level for smithing."

"I know, Geoffrey. It isn't about the armor—believe me, I wouldn't be telling you if it was." This drew a slight smile from the man, making it a bit easier. "The final quest… have you ever researched it at all?"

He frowned, a little, and shook his head. "I've aided players on the lower quests, but they don't really matter to an NPC, and that quest always sounded foolish to me. Such a big deal over the simple right to wear armor? Seems like a pointless quest to prove yourself."

The Abbot smiled sadly and nodded. "It is, Geoffrey, it is… for most, at least. But… I suggest you speak with him." In response to his questioning look, the Abbot sighed and continued. "The final quest, Geoffrey… is to slay a dragon."

Geoff felt his entire body numb as the Abbot's words sunk in. Time seemed to stop for a moment as the pieces fell into place in his mind. A dragon… a dragon available to any questing player… a dragon who needed to be slain, rather than killed…

"Elvarg, Geoffrey. The quest is to slay the dragon, Elvarg, who destroyed the Isle of Crandor those many years ago."

A long moment passed, and the silence lengthened between them. Abbot Langley placed a hand on Geoff's shoulder, and realized that his whole body was shaking violently. The warrior seemed not to notice the Abbot—with a start, he realized that Geoff was completely unaware of his presence, of the room itself. His mind was several hundred miles away, on a far off island, some decades in the past.

The Abbot stood, casting one look down at the young man, before turning to go. He left the warrior to his sorrow; the mere mention of the dragon Elvarg had awakened memories that had lain dormant for years, just below the surface of his cool façade.

His deeply ingrained fighting instincts kept Geoff's face still until he was alone. In the stretch of time it took for the door to close and the Abbot's footsteps to fade, his reserve snapped and his calm broke. One swift moment later, he collapsed, sobbing, his head in his arms, and gave in to the parts of his mind which he had forced himself to ignore for so long.

_A/N: Again, reviews and crits welcome; flames will be used for roasting lobsters. Any usernames mentioned in this story are used at random and do not belong to me. It's pretty much impossible to put something likely down without someone having used it as a name on that site. _


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I'm sorry this update took so long; it's a fairly long chapter, and I hit a pretty long block on the threshhold, which is where my stories usually sputter and die. So it looks like this one might actually work out! Anyway, on to the story!_

_In which we finally find out exactly how our hero got to be where he is; Geoff fulfills his further duties as a random event NPC, landing him with any character's worst nightmare—a fangirl. Again, no usernames mentioned here are mine._

Chapter Four

"Geoff? I've brought you dinner." Karl rapped on the door, and it swung open under his hand. His eyes slowly adjusted to the light, but it still took him a moment to register the image of his longtime friend slouched across half the low bed, looking for all the world more like a corpse than a living man. "What's the matter?" It was the wrong question, but he didn't care. He put the tray down on the desk nearby, and sat down, wincing as he did so—the wound in his torso wasn't completely healed just yet.

There was a long pause before he spoke, his voice heavy and low. "Do you know where I am from, Karl?"

Karl started to answer, then paused. "No, actually. I'd always assumed you were just from Falador or Varrock." He watched as his friend lifted his head, almost as though it weighed as much as the huge axe hanging on the wall.

"Crandor. I'm from Crandor, Karl."

He swallowed. "The lost island."

Geoff looked down, then glanced back at his friend, his eyes dark, but dry. To the monk, he seemed almost empty, as though his soul had been dried out and blown away, somehow, in the past few hours. "The lost island. The island that was destroyed… completely… by a dragon, fifteen years ago."

Karl nodded and reached over, handing him the plate. "Eat, Geoff. I don't care what's going on in your mind, your body won't heal if you don't keep it nourished." His tall friend took the plate, allowing a slight smile to creep into his face. "Now… I know this isn't easy for you, friend. It's got to be a long story, too. But, if you can, I think you need to tell someone, and you can trust me. What happened?"

"It is indeed a long story. Are you sure, Karl?" He nodded. Geoff swallowed, ran a shaking hand over his head, and began.

"I was born there, actually. My father worked as a guard, and my mother was a seamstress." He swallowed hard before continuing, "My older brother—he was eight years older than me—he was apprenticed to a mage, Melzar the Wise." Karl hid his surprise at the name and nodded. "He had a natural talent for sorcery, Garth. I can remember him spending hours at a time studying that spell-book, up in his room. I was never much for it, though—too much studying for not enough results, and I couldn't get over buying a new set of runes for every spell." He gave Karl a crooked smile and took another bite before continuing. "But I used to mine his essence, when I had the time—which was more often than not. I was…" he paused, trying to remember. "I think I started mining it when I was about eight. My father knew, or at least had some idea, but we never told mother, she had a thing about children and labor. I saved him a lot by mining essence, and in return, he taught me more than I could learn in school." He took another bite and went on.

"I was… maybe thirteen when it happened. They say he went for the palace first; I was in the general store, buying food. I still remember the roars…" he shuddered and fell silent for a moment. "I ran outside and looked up; there was this huge, huge black shape overhead, a shadow over the entire street. The wind from his wings bent all the trees back, I remember that. There were fires everywhere, and people dead in the street. I still remember that wickedly sharp jaw snapping down at my best friend. Our house was in one of the neighborhoods hit first, so I knew it was too late, there. At the palace, the guards—my father among them—threw everything they had at the dragon, but he took them down without a thought. I remember the smell…" He stopped and shook his head. "Blood, smoke, burning flesh. And another… the beast itself had a distinct scent. I've had nightmares and awoken to find it in my taste-buds, many, many times."

"I knew my brother was with his master, so I ran for the wizard's tower. When I got there, it was already in ruins, tumbling stones everywhere. The only three who made it out were Melzar, Lozar, and Thalzar. They were in a circle, teleporting to Varrock, I remember, and all three of them were crying when I tripped and fell into their circle. I owe Melzar my life; he modified to tele-other, and next thing I knew, we were all standing around in the Varrock palace, just… completely unsure. We went to the king, but when Lozar scried the island, we found that it was completely destroyed—what good would it do to go back now? So they split the map between them and went their separate ways, and I was left in Varrock, alone."

Karl shook his head. "How did you survive? I know when you were brought here, you were between Falador and the Goblin Village…"

He smiled, a trace of bitterness in his face. "With the thieves, yes. I did what I had to—I spent my time scrounging the streets for coin and food. The one thing I can say I never stooped to was murder. I'd pickpocket, and my specialty was breaking into the upper stories of homes around the city at night. I probably know the back alleys and rooftops of that city better than any alive. I'd do anything to make a few coins—my goal was to survive the next day. I'd spend all day looking for bones around the city, then selling them to prayer-grinders." He laughed at Karl's raised eyebrow. "Don't mistake it, I'm not proud of everything I did back then, Karl. But I did what I had to—it's not so easy to make an honest living as they'd have you think, in the bigger cities. I think my favorite players were the high-level archers; they'd shoot guards with mithril arrows and move on, and I'd be there to scoop them up."

"Eventually, I got better and better at this life—I was running back and forth between Falador, one step ahead of the guards, as a fairly high-level highwayman, when I ran into a lot of trouble I found I couldn't handle." Karl nodded—he remembered this, though Geoff had never told exactly what had put him into the shape he was. "It was a shade. Not even one of the 79 or anything—this thing was so around a level 148. I don't know if he's still around. That's when you guys found me. I'd run for my life, the gang of thieves I'd trusted to watch my back stood there, laughing, and eventually, he ran me down to the foot of the Ice Mountain."

Karl nodded—he knew a bit of this part, having been at the monastery when they brought his friend in for the first time. "And the dwarves rescued you?"

He smiled, a bit sheepishly, and shook his head. "No, actually—he fought me all the way to the foot of the Dark Knights' stronghold before disappearing. Before I'd managed to even stand back up, I found myself face to boot with three of them, fully armored and outfitted, all around me. One drew his sword, and I scrambled—he was one step behind me, and his sword just grazed my back when I threw myself forward as hard as I could." He glanced sidelong at his friend and grinned. "Gave me a right nasty scar, at that, but that's where the dwarves came in. This one fellow, I wish I could remember his name, threw his axe in between me and the knight, and the next stroke would've finished me. I was nearly finished, then—spent the last of my energy with that leap, and couldn't get up for the life of me. The other two dwarves pulled me back out of the Darker side of the mountain while their comrade slashed the knight's legs out from under him." Finished with his meal, he pushed the tray over and stacked it with Karl's dishes. "I'll take these down." Karl nodded.

"Luckily, Marcus was there." The two shared a grin—Marcus couldn't resist healing the injuries of every squirrel, raccoon, and butterfly that came to the courtyard steps. "He'd been bringing pies, or something, I think, and someone ran down to get him. He healed the first few of my injuries, and brought me here, and… well, you know the rest of it. I lived here some two or three years, then became a Random Event and struck off on my own."

"So Abbot Langley told you?"

He looked down for a moment, then nodded. "I wish… I never knew there was a way back at all."

Karl put a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Geoff. You didn't know—even if you had, there's no way you would've been able to face down a dragon, back then. Even now, it's a stretch." Geoff looked up sharply, and Karl shook his head. "No, Geoffrey. You're a high level character, and a Random at that, but you don't—"

"I don't what, Karl?" He stood, angrily, nearly knocking himself out on the low ceiling as he did so. "If I'm not high enough, so be it! I should have died then and there, on that island fighting with my people!" Karl remained sitting there, looking up at the towering warrior—his best friend— calmly.

"You don't understand the dangers involved. It's not just a matter of hijacking a boat to the island and taking the beast on." Geoff snorted disbelievingly—the monk ignored this and continued. "There are a lot of aspects of the quest that you haven't even considered yet. This isn't something you can just leap into."

"Oh really? Tell me, then. What is it I need to do that's so dangerous?" He sat back down, still glaring at Karl across the cot.

"It's not necessarily dangerous, all of it—but complicated. So far as I could understand from the guy who came by here, you can't get there without a map, and even if you find one, all the ship captains are terrified to go."

"Karl… I need to do this. I don't know how to make you understand just how important it is to me." Geoff looked up, his eyes shining in the dim light. "I… need to do this."

He sighed. "It's alright. I understand, Geoff."

There was a long silence, and then both men stood. "Thank you, Karl."

"Good night, my friend." He turned to leave, and Geoff stood. The two briefly clasped arms, and then the Crandorian was left alone in his room, where he slowly sank down onto his cot, collapsing into sleep.

The sun shone brightly through the stained glass windows, leaving pools of color on the stone chapel floor. Outside, somewhere, birds were singing cheerfully, but their song never seemed to reach through these walls; the music here was from the organ, grand, awesome, almost terrifying in its stature. The very air in this place seemed… holy. To the monks, this was a comfort, this feeling of a hand in your life, guiding you, watching you, keeping you… Geoff could not step into the chapel without a sense of dread, a trapped, terrifying feeling which penetrated his very bones.

But today, he found himself here, once again, willingly. The abbot had asked him to come; he wished to bless the young warrior, on his quest. One didn't turn down such a request, ever. And so, on the morning he began this mission, he found himself kneeling in the chapel, while the abbot placed a firm hand on his un-helmeted head. The music filled his ears, and settled in his mind, but he refused to allow himself to be comforted. Comfort was a luxury he could not afford in this new quest, and more than that…

It was a lie. The mantra in his head came like the slap of cold water on a warm and drowsy day. He suddenly remembered why he believed none of this—why he was here in the first place. The chanting continued, in that strange, old, familiar language; the music went on, the sunlight slanted pictures of warriors long gone on his back, but his mind was impervious, armored once again before this invasive force. No god would stand with him on the shores of his homeland, when he faced the terrible beast. No god would help him find the doors—no god, no angel, would guide him, now. This was his quest; it was his path alone, as it had been all along.

"Rise, Geoffrey, Axe of Sarodomin."

He stood, and the abbot placed both hands on his shoulders. "May you find all that you search for on this quest, Geoffrey. May you find peace, when your journey ends."

Geoff bowed. "Thank you, Sir."

Abbot Langley smiled, slightly. He knew, as few did, how the mind of this iron-hearted warrior worked. He was fairly certain of what the young man had just been thinking, and why his eyes had returned to their hardened, impenetrable look.

"May Saradomin be with you, Geoff."

A smile passed over his face for a moment; he bowed again. "Thank you, Sir." His steps were light as he left the chapel, retrieved his armor, and bid a final farewell to Karl before leaving the monastery again, his battleaxe in his right hand once more.

"To the Guild of Champions, then."

Three hours later, he was fervently wishing he had his closest friend's patience and lack of impulse-violence. "No. No, I do not—Damn it, I said no!"

"Plz?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!"

A muscle began to twitch in his eyelid. "If you ask me that one more time, I swear to Saradomin's holy anklets I will shove that ring so far down your throat you'll—"

"But i need a boyfriennd!!!!!!!!!!!"

"You're lucky NPCs don't have the 'report' option, kid." He continued over the bridge, the pink-clad Stefanybabii25xx following behind.

"If ur a npc, y can u talk?" She pouted as they passed the canoe station.

"Because I'm also a Random Event, which gives me more options. Like killing you."

"Join my guild!"

"Fire plz fire plz fire plz fire plz…"

His knuckles were white on his axe handle by the time he reached the Western gate into Varrock, and the constant attentions of Stefanybabii weren't exactly helping. Finally, he whirled on her, brandishing his blade. "I will _kill_ you, you idiot! Is there something you don't understand about that?"

She replied by blowing a raspberry at him. He grinned, his teeth showing not unlike a shark's as he slowly raised his axe.

"Wrong answer."

She didn't quite have time to answer again as the shining blade bit into her neck, neatly severing it from her body, and she crumpled to the ground. His laughter echoed, rather too villainous for the guards around him, who quietly edged away.

"Woah dude it's Geoff the Axe!!!"

He glanced over to the player staring at him, and saluted in response. "Can I help you?"

JustinKiller9142 grinned and nodded, walking over. "Yeah, you helped me out before with the Imp Slayer quest—I think that was thirty levels ago, tho." Geoff nodded, and, after a moment wracking his brain, recalled the player.

"Ah, right. How's it going, Justin?" He paused a moment to wipe the blood off of his axe, with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. What's up?"

"Well, I'm working on the Shield of Arrav quest now, but I don't have a partner around to break down the Phoenix gang bit, plus I need the crossbows."

Geoff grinned. "Alright, that much I can definitely do. Meet me in… five minutes, at the Blue Moon, alright?" Justin saluted, and he returned it before heading off down the street. The door was locked, as always, but for once, he didn't bother finding the key. After all, kicking it down worked quite as well, in the end.

Amidst a pile of splintered wood and the open-mouthed stares of several surrounding players, he strode into the Phoenix stronghold and climbed to the second floor.

"Is everything alright? I heard a crash…"

He grinned widely and nodded. "Oh, everything's fine! I just need a pair of crossbows, that's all."

"I… think you're lying." The man squinted suspiciously at him, but Geoff dodged around him and, stooping, grabbed two bows. He cleared a broken chair and table in a quick bound, one hand to the table, and sprinted to the ladder. Swinging his axe above his head, he slid down the ladder with his feet on the outside, the blade slicing the rungs in half as he did so, cutting off the pursuit.

"Now that, children, is burglary." He bowed to the three players still watching, and sauntered off towards the Inn, whistling cheerfully, the two crossbows on his back.

Justin wasn't there when he arrived—players always took twice as long to get anything done, though he'd never been quite clear on why—so he took a seat and picked up an ale to wait.

"Geoff! Hey, you got the bows!" The enthusiastic player entered, smiling. "Thanks!"

Geoff grinned and spun both weapons over his wrists with a grin. "Ah, but you forget one thing, good man." In response to his quizzical look, the warrior laughed wickedly. "I'm a Random Event. Which means you have to do something for me before you get a reward."

Justin groaned and sat down across from him. "And that would be?"

"Well, if you've got an item I'm interested in, I'll trade you for that—or I'll ask you some kind of obscure question or something."

The player rolled his eyes and laughed. "Alright then, Geoff, what's your question? Unless you're looking for two pieces of iron ore and a handful of rune essence…"

"There's a reference to the works of Edgar Allen Poe in Draynor. Can you tell me exactly what character that is, and how?" He leaned back, grinning widely, and twirled the bows idly over his wrists as Justin glared at him from across the table.

"…How on Earth would I know that?"

"Well, think. There aren't too many characters in Draynor, and of those that are, there are only a few you could use." He pushed back his visor and laughed at the player's confusion.

"It couldn't be Diango… or Ned. I'm thinking… the Wise Old Man? No… that can't be right, either. And it wouldn't be the busybody, or the bank guard, they're involved in the same arc…"

"That leaves two major ones, Justin. C'mon, then, you can do this."

Justin frowned, then suddenly grinned. "The Cask of Almontillado. Fortunato is the victim in the story, left chained in a wine cellar to die."

Geoff laughed triumphantly and tossed him the two crossbows. "Excellent job, Justin. We might just make a decent player of you yet. There's a key on the string of one of those bows—it'll get you into the cellar of the Phoenix gang, although you'll still have to get past Straven. Good luck, man!"

Justin smiled gratefully and stood. "Thanks, Geoff. I really appreciate it."

He nodded and sat up in his chair again. "Not a problem, Justin. I'll see you around sometime, yes?" As the player nodded and left the bar, the smile slowly sank from Geoff's face as he sighed deeply and dropped his head to his arms on the table.

"…Geoff?" He looked up to see the bearded, burly thief standing over him, leaning on the next chair easily. "Geoff! I can't believe this—where have you been, man?"

Johnny the Beard. Well, damn.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: In which the quester meets up with un-looked for old connections, reluctantly, and runs smack into a few old skeletons._

Chapter Four

"Johnny. It's been a long time." Geoff kept his voice flat, pushing his visor back as he stood to greet the man.

"Too long, far too long! I haven't seen you in years… Where have you been? We haven't spoken in... in fact, since you left for that smuggling mission, three years ago!" Johnny pulled out a chair and sat, frowning slightly. "I remember, you weren't in the gang… but you were working for us. Katrine sent you out for the new steel daggers, but you disappeared halfway. What happened?"

Geoff frowned and pulled his helmet off altogether. "It's a long story. Did the gang I was meeting tell you anything?" When he'd last spoken to Johnny, they'd both been in their teens, working towards the same goal—entrance into the gang.

The large thief's eyes hardened again as he took a careful sip of his drink before answering. "They said… Honestly, Geoff, they said you'd showed up, gypped them half the daggers, and ran off. Took shelter in Falador."

He laughed, a bit, then shook his head. "Did anyone buy it?"

"From that lot? Fat chance. There was a bit of talk, some said you'd probably just taken the payment and never showed, but Katrine never quite believed it. Neither did I, if that counts for anything." Johnny drained another gulp and shook his head. "'Sides, we got information from one of our men up with the dwarves that they'd seen a kid about your description get half-killed by a Shade before they lost you in the Black Knights' side of the Mountain."

Geoff grinned slightly and nodded. "Sounds about right, actually. Never started the trade with the gang at all, that thing was on me before I could."

Johnny frowned, leaning forward, and shook his head. "Something don't add up, old friend." His tone belied the name, and his beard hid his expression as he continued. "You got chased up White Wolf Mountain by a Shade, half-dead by the time it left you at the Black Knight's doorstep, but you're sitting right across from me, with that-- damned fine, by the way-- axe on your shoulder. Either you've got talents we should talk about, or something ain't right, somewhere."

He nodded and sat back in his chair, his mind working quickly. How much could he trust the man with? This wasn't a friend, not anymore—they'd been half-rivals, even at the closest of times, and the Black Arm Gang wasn't something he really wanted in his business. Obviously, Johnny was fishing for information, but this wouldn't end well if he reported back to Katrine with a mere tidbit-- the gang leader would hardly accept a simple "Oh, I saw Geoff today!" And the last thing in the world Geoff needed was a Black Arm spy at his back, going into the free world's most dangerous quest. He decided, after a moment's reflection, to play it out, frank and open. It was his best bet at the moment.

"It's like this, Johnny. The dwarves jumped in and pulled me out from under the Knights—they'll do that kind of thing, sometimes, you know." Johnny nodded, and Geoff flagged down the barkeep for a brew before continuing. "A monk picked me up, cleaned me up, and I wound up stuck healing in the monastery for a few months."

Johnny nodded. "Sounds better, so far. But you've been gone three years now, mate. A few months is a bit under what you're accounting for."

Geoff raised one eyebrow, his hackles up, then. Sensibilities be damned, he had his pride, and that didn't mean detailing his business to this jumped-up mugger. "Accounting for? That doesn't sound quite right. Last I heard, the gang hadn't taken anyone by my name at all. Neither of us were bound when I took the money down to Falador."

"Don't be an idiot, Geoff." Johnny put his glass down and looked his erstwhile friend straight in the eye. "We ain't kids anymore, and even when we started, you knew better than to try and pull something off like that."

He slowly took a drink, licking his lips as he stared back at the gang member. Just the roll of a die. And he was led to the task of a smuggling mission, and the wrath of a Shade; the mercy of a dwarven guard, the skills of a monk. But in the end, the roll of a die was all that stood between Geoffrey the Axe, fiercely independent warrior, and Johnny the Beard, obedient gang member.

"If you think I've come back to the gang, you're quite off the mark, John. I'm passing through on my own business, and I owe no allegiance here. The task, I believe, was fifty steel daggers. If they are still required, I will deliver them. If not, I'll be on my way." He kept his tone flat, and his eyes blank; there was no good reason, barring lunacy, for starting a fight here, in the stronghold of the Black Arm.

"Geoffrey." Yet more menace in his tone. "Don't do this," he repeated. "This isn't some kid's club you outgrow in training; this is serious, and you damn well know it. If you really think Katrine will just let you waltz on through without a word, you've got another thing coming, man." Johnny's eyes glittered ominously as he drained the last of his drink. "Now, are we going to have a talk like sane adults here and now, or will I have to find you chained down in the sewers later?"

Geoff stood, pulling his helmet back on. "The daggers will be left on the Black Arm threshold by tomorrow. Good day, John." He turned and left the Inn, his helmet hiding the emotion on his face as he strode out into the daylight, the sun flashing on his armor, flames on the mirror-bright green surface to match the heart beneath it.

He stood before the palace, lost in thought. The guards largely ignored him, as they were preoccupied with the impudent fools who bantered and, now and then, attacked them. Geoff, knowing they'd re-spawn, allowed himself to be lost in the play of the fountain as he thought. The light breeze sprayed his face with mist every now and then, and the sun played on the surface of the fountain, liquid light on water—like a sapphire, here, there, constant sparkle, flow—like air, like water, like cloud…

"A girl, right?"

Geoff turned to the rasping voice at his side, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"

The old man shrugged-- Geoff noticed a flash of surprise cross his face as their eyes met. "Well, usually when a strapping young chap such as yourself takes to staring into the fountains as though their life was apt to end, it's a girl."

He couldn't help but grin. "This is actually about a gang, sir. It's quite important."

Unexpectedly enough, the man stiffened. Frowning, he took a step closer. "Which gang, exactly? Because—well. Which gang?"

The warrior frowned and lowered his voice as well. "Well, that's not exactly the kind of information one slings around in courtyards. I've got a bit of a problem. Which are you affiliated with? Perhaps you can help me."

The man grinned slightly and shook his head. "Oh, you have been away indeed, haven't you? Not only did you miss the signal, but this is the general meeting place now. You're lucky I recognized you."

Geoff took a step back, frowned at the old man, and then laughed suddenly. "Sven! I didn't… you've…"

"Aged? Yes. Yes, I have." He grinned openly, then, and splashed some water over his head, dispelling the illusion to some extent, and revealing his blonde hair, rather thicker than it seemed, though by no means the mane it had been when he left. Geoff looked the older man over, a bit more warmly. His nose seemed to have been broken a few times in the past few years, and one of his ears was missing a notch—his eyes were as bright as ever, though, and the perpetual white-blond stubble covered the lower half of his face.

"It's good to see you, Sven," he said—more honestly than it could've been said of Johnny the Beard—and they clasped arms.

"So, in much trouble? There's a rumor going around about an axe-wielding psycho who bashed in the doors of the Phoenix armament. That wouldn't by any chance be you?" He glanced down at the well-crafted axe in his old friend's hand and laughed aloud, throwing his head back.

Geoff grinned, a bit sheepishly. "Well… yes. Part of being a Random, you know, had to help out a Player with the—" he stopped. Telling a character directly involved about the theft of a prized artifact didn't seem like such a good idea, no matter their past connections. "Thieves' Guild quest."

Sven nodded, and motioned towards the palace. "Ah, that makes sense. I didn't know you were a Random, though. Come on, let's walk. I've got to talk to you."

He followed the older thief into Varrock Palace, a bit warily, albeit, steeling his nerves for the unavoidable talk to follow. And, sure enough, as they passed the Chaos Monk, rattling his chain, Sven gave him a sidelong look and began.

"So, what happened to you? You must've found a way around that Shade, but where'd you go from there? I heard from a contact you'd been in with the monks."

"Well… kind of. I spent a little time there, healing, and then struck out on my own. It… I never really thought about coming back." This wasn't really true. The first few months, he'd been in mortal terror of the gang catching up with him. But he'd never even considered actually returning. After his freedom alone, willingly going back into the Black Arms he'd left had seemed like the most foolish thing he could've possibly done.

Sven nodded. "It's alright, Geoff. I—well, Katrine will want to talk to you. But from your… well, you must've run into someone already, no?"

Geoff grimaced as they passed the spreading yew in the palace garden. "Johnny, yes."

He frowned, pausing for a moment to lean against the trunk. "Weren't you friends, though, before you left?"

"We were."

Sven raised an eyebrow, noting the past-tense. "What happened? You've both obviously grown, gone different ways. But knowing him… well. What happened, Geoff?"

Geoff sighed and reached down to pluck a petal from one of the sunflowers along the wall. "Well, he wanted to know where I'd been. I was a little reluctant to bare my entire past, and he told me I had to account for my time—for the gang, you know?"

"And you refused." His tone was flat, and Geoff stopped methodically shredding the flower petal in his hand to look at him.

"Of course I did, Sven! I'm not in the gang, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let Katrine know every little detail of my life from here on out—I've never been a lapdog, and I'd hardly choose three years after my last contact with the gang to start."

Sven sighed, and they both glanced out the gap in the wall as they passed it. Outside the palace, men shouted and jostled, haggling the prices of metal ores, armor, and jewelry. The harsh sounds broke through the air, feeling almost like an assault to both of them.

"Here—it's a little quieter." They passed, and Sven led the way into the small alcove, between the two fountains. Geoff leaned up against the wall.

"Geoff—I should warn you. My loyalty is to the gang. We were friends when we last spoke, and I would like it to remain so. But… I can't simply let you go. Johnny's right, in part, at least. You do need to at least speak with Katrine."

He smiled, a little bitterly. "Sven… I can't do that. I am not a part of the gang, and I will not answer to anyone for my actions."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Geoff. I guess... this is where our paths part, then." As they reached to shake hands, maybe for the last time, the sound of footsteps made them both turn.

"Sven! I've been looking everywhere for you!" A young boy of about fourteen sprinted up to the steps, then stopped suddenly, noticing the menacing warrior behind the fountain. A flood of memories hit the warrior—the young, flushed face, the air of forcefully put-on importance, the few carefully primed facial hairs... the desperate attempts at manhood… not least of which were learning to fight, to kill—joining a gang.

"…Sir." Apparently deciding to ignore Geoff, he turned to Sven, an anxious frown crossing his face. "'s a problem—Katrine wants t' see you right off. She says—I shouldn't say it so public, sir. You got to come, though. She's demandin' it."

The tall blond sighed, rubbing his forehead. He turned to his erstwhile friend, who stood motionless, his face set. "Something tells me this involves you. Last offer—you can't run forever. You made this life, this is your past, no one else's."

Geoff sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sven. You're right, I have to face up to this sometime, but—I won't go willingly back to… that." His mailed hand made a half-futile gesture at the dark-haired youth on the steps, who glowered at him in return. "Tell Katrine that her daggers will be delivered before the next sunset." Sven nodded silently, and they shook hands. Then he turned, and began to walk away, north through the palace garden, towards the chaos of the marketplace.

"Wait a tic!" The youth suddenly realized something, seeing the axe on his back. "You're Geoffrey the Axe!" Geoff paused, and the boy took the opportunity to draw his black dagger.

"Kale—put it away." Sven sounded tired, older than his years, as he put a hand on the trembling boy's shoulder.

"Sven, he's wanted— E's the reason for meeting! All members've got orders t' jump the minute we seen him!" Shaking the hand, Kale ran forward a few steps, as Geoff slowly turned to meet him, axe before him.

"I know, Kale. But you won't win this fight, and neither will I. Come. We'll decide how to handle this with Katrine." He refused to meet Geoff's gaze, and the latter turned, finally, to the younger gang member.

Not turning, Kale shouted angrily to the man behind him, raising his weapon. "You traitor!" He leaped forward to the waiting warrior. "C'mon, then, le'sgo!"

The warrior shook his head, raising his axe. "You don't want to do this, boy. Neither do I, at that. Put that down before you get hurt."

"You gonna die, now!" He leaped forward, stabbing towards Geoff's chest with the small blade. Geoff sidestepped, raising his axe higher as Kale stumbled, his momentum carrying him past the experienced fighter.

Finding more mercy than he'd thought he'd had towards this young mirror, he turned the axe blade as he brought it down, the flat edge landing with force on the back of the boy's head. Kale, though, was a bit harder of a fighter than he'd thought, and rolled with the blow, going with the force to the ground, and landing on his stomach to leap up again, whirling before Geoff could get another stroke in.

"Hah! Too soft, old man," he jeered, slipping in and out of range of the axe-blade. Geoff could feel nothing but cynical amusement at the boy's motion.

"Ever killed a man, Kale?" He deflected a stab at his unguarded arm with the blade of his axe, and used the force to twist the blade back, bending the boy's wrist at a steep, painful angle. The question went unanswered, though if he'd looked past, he would've seen Sven smile a bit, sadly.

The next stab, from the left hand, nicked the glove wielding his axe, but the responding full-force punch to the boy's face knocked him out cold. Geoff stopped and put his axe back up to his back and turned to look at Sven. "You should probably take him with you, before the muggers decide to loot his body."

"Thank you."

A brief smile passed his eyes, but when he turned back to the gate, a small voice wondered if it wouldn't have been better to simply take the poor fool's life now, before the next Johnny the Beard was born.

And so it was with a heavy heart that Geoff set about the purchase of fifty steel daggers in the Great Exchange.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: In which dangerous knives are delivered, demons are recruited, and Geoffrey reaps the consequences of long-passed mistake

_A/N: In which dangerous knives are delivered, demons are recruited, and Geoffrey reaps the consequences of long-passed mistakes. Note—silver bars cannot actually be used to bribe operators of the Great Exchange. That is called fabrication, my dear reader. It's quite common in works of fiction. Also, there's a bit of a mistake in chapters—the actual content is alright, but I accidentally labeled chapter five as four; I'll fix that, at some point, though. But for now, it's not too big of a deal, unless anyone has a complaint. And now, on to the story._

Chapter Six

He stood in front of the Exchange Desk—the operators on this side were much easier to bribe than the stiff-upper-lip Bankers. "Yes. Fifty steel daggers—as soon as possible, if you please." He slipped three silver bars, the accepted currency for a bribe, over the counter along with his coins, and walked across the marketplace to a pillar, leaning tiredly up against it. His eyes closed, and the next moment, his mind was wandering, through corridors he'd left behind years ago, halls of stone and sand, populated with ghosts and dragons.

"Geoff? Your offer's gone through." The younger man called across the marketplace. Throwing him a nod of thanks, Geoff walked up to the desk and collected his daggers.

Off in the distance was the small plot of wheat for the Cooking Guild, the crows flapping here and there overhead. Their calls sounded so ominous, but he refused to shiver in response to the chill under his armor. Shaking his head, the tired warrior- so tired- walked through the back garden of the Capulet Mansion, and slipped in the back door. Shutting it behind him, he slipped into the elegant dining room, where the teak table dominated, and past the strange man in the other room.

"Draul? I need some help." The old man turned, his monocle glinting severely in the dim light. "It's about the Montague business." The code word was still true, he found, and the man immediately removed his monocle and stepped closer.

"Oh, is it?" He gestured to the nearby stairs. "And how can I help you, young man?"

"Well, the father has been growing weary of his overly large nose. I'm hoping to help him remove it."

He raised one eyebrow. "Are you certain this is the Montague family you're talking about, young man?"

Geoff nodded. "The family's still in mourning, I believe."

Draul shook his head and leaned against the wall, rubbing his chin. "I tip my hat to you for your kind efforts, sir, and I'd dearly love to know what, exactly, you did to cross the most powerful family in the free world. But I cannot help you."

Geoff was torn between amusement and despair. If Draul, who ran the most powerful free-lance mercenary band in Varrock, was opting out, this looked like his fight alone. Nothing new, though, which was good. He gave Draul a wry grin and nodded.

"Alright, then. Thanks anyway." As he turned to leave, the mercenary called to him again.

"I'd be careful going out, young man. You may have a longer shadow than you thought."

Geoff almost laughed aloud as he nodded in thanks. "A good morrow to you, Draul."

He noticed the shadows under the balcony outside the full-length green windows as he went, and smiled a bit. Amateurs. Well, Katrine wasn't stupid enough to send in the best right off, though actually… Huh. Actually, these could very well be on their own.

With a half-shrug, he threw open the door and stood to one side as an iron sword slashed through the air to his left. He slammed his battleaxe down on it, driving the blade deep into a crack in the floor, and brought the weapon up the angle, feeling it connect with someone's arm as he followed over the threshold.

He was immediately confronted with three men—one, a tall bloke standing in the rosebed with a gash up his right arm, fully outfitted in iron, spoke first, as his two, weaker, companions stepped out from behind the pillars—one with a heavy mithril sword, and the other with an oak longbow.

"Geoffrey Dawnsen? You're in the custody of the Black Arm Gang now. You can hand over your axe and come with us quietly, or we will disarm you and take you to her Highness by any means necessary." He didn't miss the slight quaver in the man's voice, and grinned a bit, beneath his helmet, before his mind stiffened for the oncoming fight.

"Did you miss my answer? I believe it's still sticking out of the floor."

The man growled, and gave his sword a yank—a futile move, and one that gave Geoff the opportunity to leap past him, administering a kick to the chest as he went, and one that knocked the man onto his back into a mess of rosebushes. As he struggled to pull himself out, Geoff was already moving towards the man behind the first pillar, who rushed forward, a double-handed sword swinging at his neck.

He parried the first blow with a twisting shield, and followed that up by dropping to one knee, thrusting his axe up towards the man's knees. As expected, that was parried, but the third warrior, with bow drawn, was sufficiently thrown, and the shot aimed for the seam of Geoff's helmet and body armor instead sunk into his companion's shoulder.

The door slammed on the first man's sword, and he was pushed back into the bushes as the arrow-struck fighter stumbled into his prone body. Geoff followed this move with a wide sweep of his axe, jumping to his feet. The blow was barely parried, but it cost him—the momentum of the two blades colliding twisted his arm just a bit, and the resulting wince of pain gave Geoff the opportunity to drive his shield into the gang member's chest, tripping him over the rosebushes, into the wall.

Unfortunately, this left his flank open, and the next arrow slammed into his side. He resisted the instinct to whirl on the archer, and instead finished his bout with the two men in the roses, sweeping his axe down through the second man's good shoulder, and landing it in the chest of the man in the roses.

As another arrow glanced off of his helmet, he acted on instinct again and let fly with his shield arm, whirling the large kite-shield through the air, towards the position of the archer. He then turned, axe at the ready, to face the last enemy.

And swore. Loudly. Grinning hideously from across the walkway stood the last of the trio, but gone was the oaken longbow, as well as the full iron armor.

Instead, the fighter was tossing a poisoned mithril dagger from hand to hand, and black armor shone darkly, an odd contrast against the rosebushes. Even better, Geoff's shield lay about ten feet behind him, out of reach.

"Well, well, well. Stephen the Snake. Sure you want to do this? I'd rather not get your blood all over my blade." Geoff took a step forward, raising his axe.

His voice, as deep and oily as ever, held more than the hint of a sneer. "Always one for talking, eh, Geoffrey? Let's get this over with."

They came forward, both circling—Geoff, cautiously, looking for an opening, any weakness at all—Stephen with confident fluidity, still tossing his dagger back and forth between hands. As the gap between them wavered in distance, Stephen suddenly struck, snakelike and true to his name. The blade came up, below Geoff's left arm, and nicked his torso as he dodged out of the way, counterstriking towards the smaller man's shoulder.

The blows continued, probing more than attacking, for some time as the fighters wove back and forth. At some point, three lower level players wandered up and watched from a safe distance, wondering. Geoff began to speed his pace, his axe making shorter strokes, lighter force, twisting. Now and then, a spark would land on the grass, as his blade glanced off of the black armor. Stephen continued to ease in and out of range, his dagger stabbing towards the chinks in Geoff's armor—his gloves especially.

"Dude is it an event?"

"I dunno, theyv been going 4 like five minutes now"

"Look one just got hit hes bleeding!"

Geoff followed his hit through, the blade tearing a gash through the Snake's armor, and the skin beneath it. Stephen dodged quickly away from the axe—but not quickly enough, and Geoff's grim smile showed too well, he knew exactly how good of a hit it was.

"Damn you…" he gasped, his dagger flashing. "Not… worth… the gold…" He stayed out of range for the moment, back to circling.

Geoff shook his head a bit, still smiling grimly. "Worth the blood though, eh? You knew exactly what it was worth, Stephen, and that's why you came."

Pausing for a split second, only to be forced backwards by the swinging blade, he smirked nastily. "I came to… see if it was… true. The… blood… was a bonus."

Circling back, Geoff frowned and sidestepped a half-lunge, chopping down after it—he barely missed the stabbing wrist. "If what was true?" The only answer was a choked laugh, and then he leaped out of the way as the dagger was thrown at his heart, leaving a tear in his armor, just grazing the side of his chest.

He began to advance again, but Stephen stopped him cold with a barrage of daggers, and before he knew it, it was all he could do to avoid being skewered, let alone try to make his own attacks. Before long, his armor was covered in smaller scratches, as well as his skin, and he was breathing heavily. The toll showed hard on his opponent, too, though, and the blood was flowing freely from the tear in his armor.

"What happesn if one of them die?"

"I dont know maybe they leave armor"

"Whoa look at that you guys!!"

"What the ?!"

Geoff jumped back, astonished, as a figure in full mithril suddenly took on the assassin before him, leaving a pile of bones and a few papers behind on the ground. He stared in shock at the helmeted figure, his visor obscured by the blood which now covered the entire front of his armor.

"Justin! What are you doing?" Furious, he strode forward, grabbing his shield as he passed. "This was not a multi-player fight!"

The player pushed up his helmet and raised an eyebrow at the shouting warrior. "They didn't think so," he said simply, pointing. Geoff wheeled to see two archers, both wearing tell-tale black armbands, behind the garden fence; as he turned, they both ran, back towards the Exchange where they disappeared into the crowd beyond the pillars.

Geoff could do nothing but laugh, pulling off his helmet. He turned back to Justin, shrugging. "He earned that name, you know. I should've thought of it. …Thank you."

The player shrugged, grinning. "It's nothing. Just—mind telling me just how you managed to get into that fight?"

"Heh." He stooped and picked up the pile of papers. "It's a bit of a long story. Got the time?" Justin nodded. "Alright. C'mon—I've got some deliveries to make."

The player followed him back into Varrock, removing his helmet, body-plate, and shield to reveal a shock of shoulder-length red hair, light complexion, and… a diamond amulet. Geoff raised an eyebrow at it as they passed the fountain. "Never pegged you for a jewelry man." He laughed, but Geoff detected a blush on his face.

"Actually, my girl plays this one, too. We made these for each other… it's kind of a stupid little thing… just to warn off the idiots, you know?" He rubbed the stone a bit and laughed, a bit awkwardly.

Geoff smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. "Not stupid. Does it actually work?"

He laughed aloud as they turned down towards the sword-seller's. "What do you think?"

"Hold. See him—there?"

Justin frowned, and nodded. Geoff grabbed his arm and pulled him back behind the corner as he went to move. "I mean the tramp."

"I know—Charlie the Tramp. What about him?"

"You did the quest with the Black Arm, right?" Justin nodded. "Well, then wait for an opening and we'll—Now!" The Tramp turned, and they took the opportunity to race forward. Geoff brought his shield down on the back of the man's head, and he crumpled to the ground with a groan.

"Come on!" Geoff sprinted down the alley with Justin at his heels. He ran straight into the first open door, quickly shutting it behind them. Justin looked around. Little clouds of dust sprang up around their footsteps, and the walls were more crack than building, mostly of cheap, thrown-together boards. A teal carpet on the floor seemed to be slightly moving. He caught the NPC's eye.

Geoff grinned at him. "Where I grew up." He walked, his footsteps quieter than usual, over to the door. "Alright, you're in this gang, aren't you?" Justin nodded. "Take these," he handed him a bank-note for fifty steel daggers, "And give them to her. But—wait a second." He pulled a pen out and leaned up against the wall, scribbling something on the back of the note. "Here. If it gets messy, call me, and I'll distract them—first chance you get, teleport out of here. You got it?"

He nodded. "You're going to tell me what this is all about?" Geoff smiled. "I want a promise, mate."

"I'll tell you. Now hurry up!"

He watched through the cracks in the wall as Justin handed the note to the pacing gang leader.

"Where did you get these?" The blond woman grabbed the player by his collar. "Duke, Jimmy! Get in here!" The thieves in the next room burst in, and before he knew it, the player was completely surrounded.

"This guy hanging around the Exchange…" he coughed, gasping for air, "He told me to give them to you!"

"What was his name?" She let go of his collar, her voice suddenly deadly calm. Justin stuttered for a moment, and she lost control again. "His _name_, you nitwit! What was his name?"

"He said you'd know who it was from."

One of the thieves looked significantly at Katrine. "Sounds like Geoff, alright."

She wasn't convinced. "Describe him."

Justin took a step back. "He… he was in full adamant armor, but his head showed up with long hair… and he was tall. He had this huge axe, too." Geoff smiled from behind the wall, relaxing a bit. Justin knew what he was doing.

"Alright." She sighed and turned to the two thieves who'd come in. "You head up to the Exchange—take him with you," she added, gesturing to Justin. He swallowed.

Geoff slipped out of the building and ran lightly down the alley, to where poor Charlie was stumbling around the side of the street. Nodding, he stood behind the corner, waiting for the four to come out, his helmet over his face, and his axe behind his back. Soon enough, the three came out, Justin lagging a bit behind. Smart boy.

He waited until they were around the corner, past the sword shop, and then he moved in, slamming the closest thief in the back of the head with the face of his axe. "Now, Justin!" Justin whirled and stabbed the other through the chest, and Geoff pulled him to the left, down a dirty path, leaving the two men in the street.

"Here—" he slipped into a warehouse along the way, and Justin pulled the door shut behind them. There was a man inside, patrolling the shelves, but he largely ignored them. "Good job!" Geoff grinned at him, pulling off his helmet. "Now -that- was fun."

Justin laughed. "Alright, I'll grant you that. …But."

He smiled. "But?"

"But now, you've got a story to tell."

"Not here, though." The player frowned quizzically. "Too close—" he pointed to the wall, and Justin turned to see, through the cracks in the wall, the two wounded thieves being cared for in the stronghold of the Black Arm Gang.

He jumped, startled, and turned to Geoff. "Bold move!" Geoff nodded, and turned to go.

"Just wanted to get off the path for a moment, in case someone came after us. But we should be in the clear now—you don't have any pressing business, do you?"

Justin grinned. "None whatsoever. Where do we need to go?"

Geoff led the way up the ladder to the city wall, talking over his shoulder. "You can get into the Champions' Guild, right?" He nodded. "Alright then. I'm… well, I'm on a quest. That's another, longer story, though. This one's a bit easier. Let's get going—we should make it to the Guild by dark." They came down the ladder and turned outside of the city, to the South.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I'm terribly sorry for the long delay

_A/N: I'm terribly sorry for the long delay. Between familial issues, the AP exams, and a thousand other things demanding my attention, I really haven't had time or energy to write this, unless I forced myself, and I _hate_ forced writing, because my style just pretty much sucks. Anyway, se pregunto su perdón para la demora. _

_In this chapter, Geoff is somewhat surprised, wastes blood on a thunderstorm, and manages to be struck dumb and awkward by a common shop girl._

Chapter Seven

They passed the stone pillars, and Geoff looked around, looking somewhat confused. "Is it just me, or did there used to be a spear wall around here somewhere?"

Justin nodded and pointed to one yard away from the wall. "You might be able to see some of the holes from where they pulled it up. I don't know why they got rid of it, but there's just empty space there, now."

"Ah, I see. That's odd. Now… you were interested in a story, no?"

He grinned and nodded. "I was! Do you mean I actually get that backstory now?"

Geoff laughed. "Well, there's… it's a bit complicated. Have you done the Dragonslayer quest?" He shook his head, and Geoff sighed. "You know the premise, though, right?"

"Basically, this dragon destroyed an island, a long time ago, and your task is to get three pieces of a map from the three wizards who escaped, buy and fix this boat, and then go there and kill the dragon—there's a lot more sidequests, though, on how to survive and fix the boat, and tasks for the maps. Once you come back, you can wear full rune armor, though, so it's pretty worth it."

He nodded. "Yeah, pretty much. Well… I'm from the island— it's called Crandor, by the way."

Justin glanced over at his companion. "That… ouch. I'm sorry, man."

He smiled, a little sadly. "Not your fault, and it was a long time ago. But I didn't know about this quest – I have no idea how I missed every hint for the past few years – but a friend mentioned it to me, a week or so ago, and… I found myself on my way down here."

"I understand that. So now you've got to do the quest yourself?" They turned the corner, and the sound of metal on stone reached them from a little farther south.

"Yeah, pretty much. I can work around things most of the time, helping players on their quests, and just doing odd jobs day to day. But taking on a quest for myself, that I'm not really allowed to cheat on… aside from which, this isn't something I would feel right taking shortcuts on, or I'd just find a player who owed me a favor and hitch a ride there. But you know I don't need the quest points—I need the dragon."

Justin nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. So why does that matter to the Black Armband?"

Geoff grimaced, laughing a little. "That's… well, years ago, right after I wound up in Varrock, I was a runner for the gang. I did little odd jobs, ran errands, and smuggled, and I was maybe two steps away from becoming a full member when I ran into a Shade, on the biggest pick-up they'd assigned me."

They passed through the mining pit, sidestepping piles of dried clay and raw ore, and turned to the East. "So how'd you get away?"

"Heh. I wound up two points from death, in the Dwarven mines. The monks around there took me in, and shortly after, I decided to start new as a Random Event—took me a year or so of training, but that's how I got here. I guess Katrine wants me back—I don't know what, or why, but I'm not going."

The Guild of Champions loomed up close, the huge marble structure looking as impressive as ever against the river behind it. Justin whistled appreciatively.

"Do you affect the vision of Players, when you hang around long enough?"

He grinned. "You could say that. In reality, since I'm part of the codes, I can shift them around a little, which makes your quality just that much higher."

He knocked loudly on the well carved door, and the Guildmaster wandered over to open it, smiling benignly at the both of them—for just a moment. "Geoffrey!" His face immediately dropped the resignedly cheerful look that the average NPC wore, and he took a step back. "I have news for you."

Geoff groaned and came in, Justin a few steps behind him. "Does it involve a certain spy network wearing mourning clothes?"

He blinked and shut the door behind them. "Then…" he hesitated for a moment, "You already know? Why'd you come here, then?"

The warrior nodded and ran a finger along the axe head by his side. "What do you mean? I had a few run-ins with them in the city… I thought they'd stop following me once I left."

"Ah, I see." He lowered his voice and leaned forward, slightly. "Well, they're here—waiting for you."

He swore, under his breath, and turned to Justin. "You might want to avoid this one, kid. I'll be running out the back way, as soon as I get my quest information." Justin turned to leave.

"Good luck, Geoff." And he was off, back towards Varrock.

The dark-haired guildmaster frowned at him. "Quest information? Geoff, you're an NPC, you don't… get quests."

"Not yet. But I'd like to take on the Dragonslayer quest, anyway."

The sound of pacing footsteps on the floorboards overhead made all three wince, and the quest-giver shrugged. "Alright, if you're decided—we don't have much time. Go talk to Oziach—he'll give you everything you need to know, really. The only known map was divided between three wizards, Melzar, Lozar, and Thalzar. Melzar lives in the south, near Port Sarim; Lozar's piece was stolen by a band of goblins who raided her cottage; Thalzar's piece was sealed off somewhere, the Sage on White Wolf Mountain can help you out there."

Geoff grinned and clasped his hand. "Thanks, Dave. I… I'll see you around. Hopefully the gang won't stick around long."

The sound of footsteps suddenly landed on the creaking stairs, and Geoff whirled, sprinting out to the garden. As a sudden shout reached his ears, he leaped over the low stone wall and raced towards the wheat field, to the Southwest. An arrow grazed his shoulder, and he vaulted over the split-rail fence, golden wheat bending before his body as he pressed through the field. The grunts as his pursuers leaped the same fence reached his ears, and he sped up.

A few minutes later, he leaped the second fence, and took off towards the sheep-field to the north, desperate to avoid losing ground on his quest. He slammed the gate behind him as another arrow ricocheted off of his helmet, making him see stars. Although he seemed to be gaining ground, Geoff couldn't spare a glance backward, or the breath to swear as the mud around the small pond slowed his boots. Soon, he found himself within sight of the ruins surrounding Varrock, and grabbed a solid-looking wall, shoving his body down into the corner, fully hidden as he regained his breath, leaning heavily on the axe handle at his side.

The sounds of heavily breathing fighters echoed off of the stone walls, and he stood, holding his axe in close to his body, listening closely.

"He can't have gotten into the city, or someone would've raised the signal. He's got to be hiding in the ruins." Branches snapped, and the last of the chase broke through the forest. Geoff almost laughed aloud, the strangeness of the whole situation coming on him fully.

One of the players steadily chopping at the huge Yew tree spoke up. "Some guy ran through, yeah. He's hiding over there."

…Well, damn.

The chink of gold, and four pairs of footsteps, approaching steadily. He waited, holding his axe carefully angled. Closer, closer, and then the breath of the first. The final footstep, and he whirled silently, his axe leading the way into the man's chest, where it tore through a coat of steel mail, leaving the thief with just enough breath to cry out—but not before Geoff had taken to the East. This time, he did glance backward, to see only two followers, as the first stayed to heal his victim. …Damn it all, where was the luck?

And suddenly, it appeared, as he rounded the corner into a crowd of cheering clansmen, pushed his way through the mugs of beer and jugs of wine, and disappeared, turning to give the city's magnificent gate a wide berth as he passed.

He followed the road further north, towards the bleak Wilderness. Too soon, his footsteps slowed, and he found himself panting for breath at the feet of the tall, mysterious statute, the eerie silence disturbed only by his frantic gasps and the soft snores of the scientist across the way. Throwing himself down on the empty bench, Geoff reached into his pack and pulled out a loaf of bread. In maybe four bites, he'd demolished it and was pulling himself to his feet.

The light snores of the archaeologist faded as he turned back to the north, pathless again, and headed for the Jolly Boar Inn. It was quiet, for a change, and the milling rogues glanced up only briefly as he entered. Outside, there was a pattering sound as a light rain began to fall, and the resident Black Knight started a fire in the center of the room as Geoff passed, headed up the stairs.

He walked out onto the balcony and paused a moment—there was quite a view from here. After watching for any sign of his pursuit, he reached again into his pack, only to realize that he hadn't anything to write on. He sighed and turned back into the Inn, pausing to remove his helmet and armor, wiping the water off as he put it away. Only the axe remained as he walked back down into the bar, and out into the front porch.

It took him a moment to find a stone soft enough for his purpose, but before long, he was back up at the balcony, this time armed with his stone as well as an empty beer glass. He carefully scratched his message on the stone floor, leaving it in the Northwest corner of the balcony, as was customary. _Leave off. I'm not rejoining, and next time I'll take you all, and leave your corpses on Katydid's doorstep._ It took him a moment more to smash the glass against the outside of the low wall, and then to draw it against the outside of his wrist.

The other custom—at least, if you wanted to be taken seriously—was to sign your name in blood. Stupid, foolish, wasteful, but it got the point across. He rubbed a fistful of dirt from the potted fern into the cut and stood, shivering as the rain began to pick up. A distant rumble of thunder sounded, and he looked down to see that, despite the water, the message held. It would hold until read by the intended, he knew; also why, but that always gave him a shudder. Another benefit of signing your name in blood.

Suddenly, a flash of lightning lit up four shapes to the South, beneath the great statute, and Geoff didn't stop to confirm the vision. He took a leap to the North, landing squarely in a tree that swayed violently under his weight, and slid down the trunk. His armor replaced, the tired fighter turned back to the Wild, hard rain hammering on his helmet, and quickly disappeared into the darkness.

Slipping across the ditch, he jogged farther in, only slowing when he reached the barrows on the other side of the path, where the skeletons wandered and the wind screamed through the dead and dying trees. A rabid-looking rat leapt for his throat, and his axe saw a moment's action again. He took the meat with him—beggars can't be choosers. The wastelands, bleak and forbidding, formed terrifying shapes in the dark, but he steeled himself and continued, ignoring the shadow-phantoms, real and imagined, that rose up out of the gloom. He paused at the first rift, but only for a moment. His turn to the- even somewhat- friendlier Northlands, didn't come until he'd passed the river. Varrock was out of bounds, now.

A bolt of ice made a loud pounding noise on his back, and Geoff found himself on both knees in the frozen mud, down several hit-points. He forced his muscles to push, and made a break for the ditch—only to stop in his tracks as the dwight's second bolt left his head spinning and his feet stuck in place. It took him a sharp dent in his armor and a patch of frostbite on his shoulder to move again, but this time he made it to the ditch before being frozen again, and took off running to the West along the ditch, barely out of reach. The wails and icy screams of the ghost sang in his ears all the way to the River, where he collapsed, kneeling there in the dried mud of the riverbed, the rushing water seeming to laugh as it flowed by his prone body.

Several minutes later, he managed to pull himself up, disregarding the filthy condition of his armor, and turn to the South, walking fairly stiffly, due to the fact that his right shoulder refused to move. He managed to leap the ditch, but not without the grateful fact that no one was around to see him land face first in the grass on the other side. It took him a few pauses, leaning hard against the stone of the bridge, but he soon found himself in Edgeville, where a guard directed him to a shack on the far side of the town.

About two hours of leaning against the stove without armor, and a huge rat steak later, Geoff set about cleaning his armor, scouring, fixing the dents, and rubbing out most of the mud. The scratches stayed, permanent trophies from the many, many times he'd fended off an arrow to the chest. As the final ice crystals disappeared from his blood, the warrior stood and stretched, forcing his muscles to de-cramp, and turned to the shop across the way.

"How can I help you today?" He examined his pack and decided against selling the coil of rope, but dumped off a useless iron dagger he'd found somewhere, and a pile of logs.

"You wouldn't happen to know where Oziach lives around here, would you?"

The shop assistant blinked, unused to answering non-specific questions. He sighed. Sometimes town residents could be really difficult to talk to.

"There's a man named Oziach in this town. I don't know where he lives. Can you tell me?"

She blinked again, then smiled and brushed a piece of hair out of her eyes, blushing slightly. "Yes… sorry about that—not many people ask me actual questions. He lives in the small house to the West of here, and a little to the North. Are you on the Dragonslayer Quest?"

He nodded, and leaned up against the wall, pushing his visor up. She was actually kind of pretty. "I am. Do you get a lot of that around here?"

"Almost every player, actually. But… you're not a player." She surveyed him for a moment, then smiled again. "That's pretty cool. We don't get Random Events… pretty much ever. No one really grinds up here, unless it's armor, every once in a great while, and sometimes woodcutting. That poor Yew in the ruins… not a day goes by it hasn't been chopped down and sprouted up again at least three times."

Geoff shrugged, removing his helmet altogether. "Well, that's players for you. Yew wood is expensive—they want the experience and the gold, and this place is too far out of the way to get so much traffic. Easy points.

"I suppose," she sighed, turning to the shelves to wipe the dust off of a tinderbox. Geoff waited for her to turn back, the blush gone from her face. "I've always had a soft spot for trees, though, so it makes me a little sad. What's your name, anyway?"

"Geoff… Er, Geoffrey." He coughed and put his helmet back on. "Yours?"

"That's a nice name. …what? Oh!" She grinned a bit sheepishly. "Gina."

He extended a hand, and she took it to shake. Geoff managed to save face, though, by bending to kiss it, drawing another blush from Gina the Shop Assistant.

"Um, I've got to…" she continued to wipe the tinderbox with her other hand, absently, until a sharp voice shattered the moment.

"Gina! Are you going to stand there chatting all day? I need these Trout priced!" The stooped old man in the corner barked, glaring at the two. Geoff hastily turned, pausing only to wave to her as he left the store, glad for the cover of his helmet as the door swung shut behind him. He took out the sudden wave of emotion on the sniggering imp outside, leaving a pile of ashes on the lawn with two swipes of his axe, and turned on his heel for the Northwest.

Although he knew he shouldn't be wasting any time, Geoff took a moment to lean, breathless, against the wall of his next destination, letting his pulse slow back to normal before he took on this next challenge.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Well, now that AP exams are finally finished, I can concentrate a little more on things I'd actually like to be doing, su

_A/N: Well, now that AP exams are finally finished, I can concentrate a little more on things I'd actually like to be doing, such as this here story! Of course, it would help if I wasn't so consistently discouraged by a complete lack of interest…(a pause, to allow my personal soundtrack orchestra to play a tearful and lonely melody). I really would love to hear your thoughts on the story, guys._

_In this chapter, Geoff finally meets up with Oziach, and for the first time sees a usefulness to picking flowers, much to his own dismay. As usual, the players mentioned do not belong to me, and, if they exist, should not be harassed based on this story._

Chapter Eight

He glanced around the small room, waiting for the small, Scottish man to turn. "Um, sir? I was sent here by the—"

"The guildmaster. Ye want a quest, aye? Summat to let ye wear the rune armor, an' I tell ye, slay the Dragon of Crandor." The short man turned, twirling his moustache in a manner that could seem almost villainous if he wasn't so ridiculous looking. Geoff raised an eyebrow.

"…Well, actually he already told me that part. I just need to see you for more details."

Oziach raised an eyebrow and folded his arms, glaring up at the warrior. "Och, did he now!"

"Well, we didn't have much time—there's kind of a gang after me…" The hard glare continued to burn into his helmet. Geoff swallowed before continuing, "So we had to talk quickly; as a matter of fact, he was cut off before he could finish, and that's why I came in the first place, to see if you could tell me anything else."

He glared for a moment longer, then stepped back and surveyed the man critically, taking a moment too long for Geoff's comfort. "And jest who are ye, anyway? Ye're no' a player, nor a moderator. Why're ye 'ere in me home, lookin' fer a quest when ye kin wear yon armor jest by changin' the codes around ye?"

Geoff sighed and glared back at him. "I really just want to slay the dragon. I… I'm actually from Crandor."

"Ach, I see. A case o' the home-comin' hero got ye doon."

He strode one pace forward and lifted the diminutive man by the collar of his armor, knocking his own helmet off with his axe hand, so they looked face to face. "I have not—not, you hear, got a case of the… hero," he almost spit the word into his face. "I simply wish to kill a dragon. Now can you help me, or not?"

The glare gone, Oziach stared calmly at him for a moment before a well-aimed kick set Geoff back a step, freeing his would-be quest-giver. He stood for a moment, dusting himself off, and then looked back at Geoff, now leaning against the door angrily, before answering.

"Ye can find a boat in Port Sarim—Duke Horacio has th' dragon-proof shield, an' I assume ye've already been given the names fer the maps."

Geoff nodded and turned to go. "…Thanks."

The quest-giver watched him, shaking his head. Geoff retrieved his helmet from the piles of sacks on his way out, and was headed back north, over the ditch, as quickly as he'd come – though not without a glance back towards the General Store.

He knew he should be heading on his quest, but right now, rather more pressing demands on his time seemed to have come up. Allowing his blood to resume boiling, he charged straight up, then turned to the west, his axe slamming into the first skeleton to cross his path. The crush of metal on bones was almost tantalizing, and he wheeled, roaring to the dark, barren skies as he struck down the ghoul, disregarding the new gash on his arm. A few moments later, the bones cracked under his feet as he raced towards the next monster, axe raised high.

An hour or so later, Geoff found himself surrounded by gnarled, mutated trees, and crackling fungus, laughing maniacally through the blood on his face as the huge bear, foaming at the mouth, swiped a claw down at his shoulder. He threw himself to the ground, swinging up with his axe as the huge paw fell just barely short of his head. The black bears weren't nearly this bad, but… Grizzlies were terrible. Finally, he managed to roll up, throwing all his weight behind the axe swing to the neck, as the beast let out a last roar and toppled.

He scooped up the fur and the meat, and whirled, axe to the ready, before realizing that that had been the last of them—for now. Yet another wandered into sight, in the distance, and he turned to the South, no desire left for the slaughter of another beast. The stiffness began to register in his muscles, and he winced at the bruises that seemed to appear out of nowhere all over his body. …The drawbacks of a battle-rage. Geoff managed a grin and began to limp back towards the ditch.

The fish wasn't much, but it was better than raw meat, and he'd managed to forget his axe. Cursing his scattered mind, Geoff gnawed away at the dried trout in his pack as he walked South, pausing only to rub the grime off of his helmet and axe. After maybe an hour's walk, he found himself on the Eastern side of a dark hill. Yawning, he once more inwardly cursed at the dark skies which made it nearly impossible to tell the time. His last trout gone, but feeling much stronger—if no less painful—Geoff suddenly heard an ominous clacking noise.

Too late, he looked over his shoulder to see three skeletons gaining on him; he turned to run, and saw two telltale white shapes approaching from that direction, too. Swearing to himself, Geoff raised his axe and turned, his back to the side of the hill. He waited, shield lax at his side, until the horde came just within reach, and spun, his axe making a wide arc around him; he heard the violent smash of metal on bone, and three of the foul things faltered.

A high-pitched grating noise called his attention to his left, and he aimed a high kick at the closest skeleton, pushing it back a few paces. His shield followed, knocking the other down, and he managed to gain ground… unfortunately, it was to the north. He pushed back another few paces, and felt the remains of one creature beneath his feet as he blocked a sword to his chest and demolished the skeleton wielding it with a side-blow of his axe. Two down, three—

He let out a roar, involuntarily, as one sword pierced his body armor at the shoulder, and aimed his next blow at disconnecting said sword from its owner at the elbow. His shield followed again, leaving the thing with only half a ribcage as Geoff moved on, leaping backwards, straight into one unprepared skeleton, which was smashed between his metal-covered body and the hillside.

The half-destroyed skeleton half-heartedly came on again, and Geoff brought his axe down to cleave its shoulder blades, shuddering as he realized that the thing hadn't had a head to start with. He shuddered still more as he fell forward, colliding head-on with the collapsing skeleton, thanks to a hard scratch against his back.

The final skeleton went down easily enough, though—these weren't so bad one on one—and he turned South again, this time running, despite his bruised muscles. He managed to get through the barrows without further incident, and before long, he'd stumbled across the ditch, fully covered in blood, muck, and bits of crushed bone. Panting, he limped towards the ruins he'd seen earlier, and fell asleep in the nearest coffin, his now clean axe lying on top of his body as he slept, within easy reach.

He didn't even hear the quiet footfalls outside his makeshift bed, or the sigh as they faded, but that was just as well.

The dawn came all too soon, with the even thud of an axe on the tree outside, and Geoff roused himself, with more than the usual reluctance. It had been such a lovely dream, for a night spent in a coffin. Pushing the wide axe blade off of his chest, he pulled up out of the stone box to find two players standing there, staring at him oddly. He glared at them both, hoisting his axe.

"…I don't know! Why don't you ask him?"

"There's no button, you idiot!"

Yawning, Geoff shook his head to clear the last of the darkness, and looked, annoyed, from one player to the next. "Ask me what?" The sudden shock never really got old.

"…Um, why's your armor so gross?" The first player, stepping back a pace, asked him, suppressing a shiver. Geoff looked down, and registered the bits of bone encrusted in his armor with dried blood and mud, and laughed.

"It's not as easy to keep it clean if you actually exchange blows with the monsters. Now… here." Sallygirl291 managed to keep from jumping back as the strange figure handed her a mysterious box. "Now, if you don't mind…?"

The two left him in peace, with a hurried thanks, and he shook his head and walked down, wincing at each step, to the well in the fenced yard. Ye gods, but he was sore. Moving as gingerly as possible, he removed the beaten armor and took a few minutes to stretch his muscles out before setting about cleaning the stuff.

"Hi! …Geoff, right?"

He looked up to see the face which had constituted most of his dream the last night framed over the stone wall.

"Gina! Hi! I've been th—"

"Do you want—"

They both stopped and laughed, nervously. Geoff continued to polish his armor, absently rubbing the same spot over and over again.

"You go first," she laughed, pulling herself up onto the stone wall.

He realized that he really hadn't intended to say 'I've been thinking about you' out loud and shook his head. "It's nothing. What were you going to say?"

"…Oh, um, alright!" She absently twirled a lock of hair around one finger. "Do you want… to maybe meet me sometime?" He grinned widely. "Oh! I mean… for lunch. Or something. Not… just…"

He stood, the cloth falling from his hand. "I'd love to, though! …For lunch. Maybe to—oh." He remembered… that whole 'dragon' thing. "The day after tomorrow?"

She grinned widely. "Yes! That… that would be perfect." Gina stood back up from the wall, smiling ear to ear. Geoff took half a step forward… rather awkwardly.

"…I'll see you then, …then."

"See you then!" She slipped off, trotting towards the store, and left the battle-hardened warrior, who'd faced down a horde of skeletons just the day before, suddenly feeling like a little kid on his first ever quest.

He grinned widely as he pulled the armor back on, some hour and a half later, now fully cleaned and operable. He was still grinning when he climbed the ridge and half-climbed, half-slid down the other side, whistling cheerfully. When he reached the other side, though, he hesitated before turning North. It was a little farther, but… heh. About ten minutes' jog later, he was vaulting over the monastery fence, into the garden. Glancing around, he knelt quickly at one of the rosebushes, wincing as the thorns bit into his hands. Before long, Geoffrey the Axe had a fair-sized bouquet in his inventory, and was whistling again as he walked into the main complex of the monastery.

"Geoffrey!" Geoff looked up to see Karl hurrying across the courtyard towards him, and grinned widely.

"Hey, man, how's it?" They embraced, and Geoff followed him back across the courtyard.

"Not bad, not bad—yourself? I see that wound's healed up completely; good!"

Geoff grinned and flexed his arm. "It has! And you're looking pretty well."

Karl led him off to one of the fountains, where he splashed a helmetful of water over his head and sat down against the wall, grinning up at the monk, who laughed back at him and sat down opposite. "Thank you. Now… how is your quest coming?"

He grimaced and shook his head. "Well, that's… complicated. I've finally gotten it started—ran into a snag in Varrock."

His friend frowned. "What happened—not the gang?"

"The gang. They followed me, too—I had another run-in with them at the Champion's Guild, and they chased me for… oh, it must've been an hour or two, up to the ruins outside the city. I took one down and hauled it all the way to the Jolly Boar."

Karl shook his head. "Do you know if they're still on your tail? Why do they even want you? Geoff, this isn't good."

He laughed. "I know it's not good, Karl! I don't think they're following me still, though; I left them a message at the Inn, and they weren't around in Edgeville. They… I don't know why they want me. Stephen the Snake said something that made me suspicious, but I'm hardly going to hang around to find out."

"Alright, so the gang—I'll keep an ear open, Geoff. Have you gotten started with the quest yet?"

"I have," he grinned, shifting a little on the ground. "Apparently the first piece is still with Melzar, in the South—I'm looking forward to seeing him again." He missed Karl's slight wince, and continued. "There's one that I have to talk to the Oracle on the Mountain for, and the other one's with a goblin in a jail somewhere—also in the South. The boat is, obviously, in Port Sarim, and there's a shield I need in Lumbridge."

Karl smiled, then paused before sighing. "You should know something, Geoff. About Melzar… you might find him… changed."

Geoff frowned. "Changed how?"

"They say the grief tore him apart—he's no longer called Melzar the Wise. They call him… Geoff, they call him Melzar the Mad." He watched his friend's face carefully, but Geoff remained simply confused.

"That's… but why? He's not mad—he was the best damn wizard on Crandor, and my brother's master… How is he changed, Karl?"

"I don't know, Geoff. But players reference him as Melzar the Mad—there's talk of a maze, dangerous creatures—" He stopped.

Geoff laughed. "That's all? He always loved a good puzzle, though. I don't know, Karl, I can't see Melzar going too bad. He may be a little eccentric in his old age, but I sincerely doubt that he's completely mad."

Karl shrugged. "If you say so—you would know, I guess. Just… be careful, Geoff."

Geoff smiled and stood. "I will. There's—there's a bit more news: happier news." He extended a hand to Karl and pulled him up.

Karl laughed at the bright glow in his friend's face. "Happy news is always good. Is it a girl, by any chance?"

He blushed. "Is it that obvious?"

Laughing, Karl clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, given that your hand is bleeding and there's a rose petal sticking out of your pack, I'd say it's either that or you discovered a new collection."

Geoff grinned and ducked his head in the fountain again. "Her name's Gina—we have a date for lunch the day after tomorrow."

He laughed again and turned to the South. "Then you'd best get going! Not much time to hang around if you've got to see the Oracle before, too."

They walked down towards the arch out of the monastery, Geoff genuinely enjoying the peaceful calm of the sanctuary. He bid farewell to the monk as they passed down, bowing elegantly. "Watch out for the imps, mate!" Karl laughed and raised his hand in salute as the tall warrior turned to the West, breaking swiftly into a jog again. Before long, he was barely visible against the side of Ice Mountain.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: In which Geoff meets an old friend for drinks, deals with those ever-infuriating highwaymen, and realizes how far Katrine's willing to go… and how deep he's in. Disclaimer: As Geoff does not exist in Runescape, the events listed in this story are not actually true, and as far as I know, it is impossible to write on a banknote._

Chapter Nine

"A door below? Below what?"

"…A door below. It's behind a door below."

Geoff sighed. "Alright then. Thank you, I'll… get right on that."

The oracle smiled mysteriously and waved. "You do that, Geoffrey Dawnsen! The information you seek will take you far indeed!"

He nodded and turned back to the South, dropping the visor back over his face. The wind bit into him anyway, cutting right through the armor. He shuddered and continued down the mountain, the snow crunching under his boots all the way. The wind howled through the icy trees, and the pale sky seemed… farther, somehow, despite actually being closer. He shivered again and rubbed his hands together, cursing under his breath.

The descent down was slippery—he supposed it would be easier to take the actual path, but he was in a hurry. "Door below… below ground, it's got to be." Rocks sliding out from under him, Geoff came skidding to a stop just short of the Dwarven walls.

"Geoff! Oi, what're you doin' 'ere?" Geoff glanced around to see an older, grizzled dwarf hurrying towards him.

"Thodrek!" He came forward and clasped hands with the miner. "I'm here for a quest, actually—how're you?"

The dwarf shrugged and shouldered his pickaxe. "I'm alrigh', mostly. But tha's all the same—I want t' hear abou' what ye've been doin'!" Geoff could see the smile beneath the thick beard, and grinned back. "'M serious, Geoff—I've jes' finished a cart full o' coal, an' exchangin' a few tall ones down in Falador's exac'ly wha' I need."

Geoff laughed and nodded. "Sounds good, Thod—d'you think you can help me out with something, though?" He followed the dwarf through the buildings, down to the ladder.

Thodrek laughed over his shoulder as he climbed down into the mine. Geoff smiled to himself; for a dwarf, Thod was one of the most cheerful people he'd ever met. Thod and his buddy Galmir had actually been the two who pulled him out of the Black Knight's reach, and he'd always helped the warrior out when he could. Geoff had, in return, spent long days beside the miners, always ready to axe down a scorpion when called for.

"Always askin' fer a favor, ye humans!" Geoff groaned and gave him a playful shove as they turned down the tunnel. "What's up, Geoff?"

"It's this quest—d'you know of any strange doors, underground?"

Thodrek blinked at him, coming to a full stop on the tunnel floor. "Aye, that I do. Why d'you need tha' door?" Geoff paused, and Thod shook his head. "The Dragon? Geoff, why would ye wan' t' do tha'? Ye're a NPC, ye don' even need quests!"

Geoff sighed and pushed up his visor. "It's a _dragon_, Thod. Isn't that enough?"

He frowned. "No. Fer an adventurer normal, I'd say aye, fer a dwarf, I'd call it th' treasure. Fer you? Ye would've done't a year ago, an' ye wouldn't be botherin' wi' all this an' the maps. An' there's dragons all over, no' jes' on Crandor." The dwarf folded his arms and glared at him. "An' if ye don' give me a reason square, ye c'n find the door on yer own – I ain't gonna give ye a key so y'can go off an' get killed somewhere."

"It's a dragon, and I'm from Crandor, and I happen to be an adventurer too, at that. Just not a normal one. Now—I know you know."

Thodrek shook his head. "Aye." He pointed to the left as they turned down the rocky corridor. "It's down there—but I hold ye're a damned fool, anyway." Geoff nodded, a grin on his face once more. "Ain't we all, though, when it ge's down t' the bones? It's yer homeland, calls ye—an' not summat ye'd ignore so easy."

Geoff looked down at him, but couldn't find a reply. They walked on in silence through the laughing miners and snapping scorpions, until the gray stone staircase loomed up ahead, and he glanced down at his companion. "Thod, what kind of drinks do they sell in Falador?"

The dwarf looked at him suspiciously. "I ge' the Dwarven Stout, or th' ale—Wizards Mind Bomb ain't worth a belch."

Geoff grinned widely. "Got that right." He held the door into the city wide as they exited the small hut, out into the bright sun.

The traders shouted, the merchants shoved, and everywhere would-be miners jostled for ores and axes. Geoff and Thod exchanged amused glances as they pushed their way through the noisy crowd. The sun became slightly darkened through the brightly colored haze overhead, individual messages lost in the jumbled nonsense as the shouts rose to a fever pitch, frenzied merchants growing more and more agitated in the crowd.

"Know what they were selling?" The crowd began to thin, as they pushed past the bank.

Thod raised his voice, shaking his head in disgust. "Some kind o' hat o' somethin', I don' know. They go abs'lutely insane o'er abou' anythin'."

He laughed and nodded, pushing through the last few players up towards the Rising Sun Inn. Soon enough, they passed the forge, where three or four miners stood exchanging ores and bars. Thod paused to glance in the open door, and Geoff waited, laughing at him as the players gave him a deer-in-the-headlights stare.

"Dude, it's a dwarf…"

"I kno, whats he doing up here??"

I dont kno maybe its som kindof event or somthin"

He shook his head again and followed Geoff to the bar. "I allus think there'll be someone worth talkin' to, seein's it's a forge an' all, but I ain't seen one yet."

The warrior shrugged and ordered two Stouts – and a Wizard's Mind Bomb, which Thod didn't comment on. "You never know. So, what do you want to hear? I haven't seen you in quite a while."

Thod grinned. "Wha's last thin' ye fought?"

He laughed and turned for the stairs. "How's the balcony sound? And you picked the best I've got to offer right now."

They headed up and sat down out overlooking the moat, and Geoff stretched out, taking a deep draft of his ale before beginning.

"So there I was, right, in the Northlands."

"'Ow'd ye win' up there?"

Geoff laughed. "Long story… mainly for some cash. I wanted to have a reason to go to the store—there's this girl, up in Edgeville…"

"A girl?" He raised an eyebrow at the storyteller, who ducked his head."

"Yes, a girl; she's very pretty, and we have a date for the day after tomorrow." The red clouds over the castle gave him pause, and he grinned. Thod shook his head and took another drink, motioning for him to continue. "Well, I'd gotten past the forest when I realized how late it was, but there were a whole pride and a half of bears in between me and the South, so that took a while—quite a few nasty ones in there." He pulled off his body armor to show the dwarf the tears from the claws along his shirt, and Thodrek winced. "The real fun started halfway back, though. I was just passing this huge grey hill when this whole horde of skeletons ambushed me!" Thod spit over the side of the balcony—Geoff remembered that whole thing dwarves have about the undead and laughed. "You'll love this, then."

The tale, start to finish, of how Geoffrey the Axe battled his way through a horde of skeletons and barely made it to the ditch with three hitpoints to spare, lasted through much of the evening, and by the time he'd satisfied Thodrek's lust for adventure and heard all the latest news from the underworld, dusk was falling fast. They started back down, just in time to meet a wandering group of drunken Players who clapped Geoff on the back and, hiccupping, offered both of them spots in their new up-and-coming Guild, which they both politely declined.

Well, Geoff declined it politely. Thod kicked the guy in the shins and told him to stop spitting ale all over him. This elicited a very rude response, and things got progressively worse, right up until Geoff punched the guy in the face, and the entire party began falling over themselves on their way out of Falador. Usually, when a single, unarmed punch lands eight hitpoints, running away isn't a bad idea.

And so it was with exuberant cheerfulness that the pair bid farewell on the steps of the Mining Guild, and cheerful weariness that Geoff returned to the nearly deserted residential area of the city, found his way to one of the upper floor's cots—"technically a bed," and collapsed.

He was up before the dawn, though, and stretching out in the early calm, wincing occasionally at the light headache the night had left him with. The air was cool and crisp, though, and before long he'd worked through it and was fitting his armor back on. By the time the sunrise had begun to show over the distant mountains and the city wall, Geoff was on his way South, past the moat. The waterfowl began to come out of their respective nests, and he could hear the beginnings of the day drifting across the water from the castle. The first sounds of the market reached his ears, but they soon faded as he passed the moat and turned towards the city gates. The guards saluted him, and he returned it on his way through.

Soon enough, a blue sparkle was visible, far in the distance, and Geoff punched the air in triumph.

"Stand and deliver, Mr. Dawnsen!"

Geoff wheeled to see an immensely tall, muscled, and well-cloaked man leap out from a copse of trees, and raised his eyebrows—and his axe. "What do you want?"

There was a flash of white teeth beneath the hood, and the bandit raised a fine steel sword. "You."

He had a moment to ward himself, and then the steel was ringing off of every side of his shield, impossibly quick. The point nicked his arm, then his shoulder, and Geoff began driving forward with his shield, now and then aiming a blow at the highwayman's head.

"It's no use, Dawnsen!" The cry was belied by a shout of pain a moment later, as the axe sliced a long tear in the leather armor. He went to take a step back, and tripped on his long black cape, barely managing to keep on his feet.

Geoff took advantage of the momentary distraction to sweep in with his axe, leaving the outlaw with another deep wound in his ribcage.

"On guard, fool! The bounty will be mine soon enough!" Geoff leapt to one side as he charged, and nearly paid for it with his life as the feint turned, and the man's long rapier stabbed into his right arm.

He threw his shield forward, then, knocking the highwayman off balance, and followed it with a slash, neatly severing the man's head from his body. Staring, Geoff slowly re-caught his breath as the body faded, leaving behind a black cape, a pile of bones, and— a piece of parchment poking out from underneath the cape. Geoff frowned and picked it up.

It was a banknote… for two thousand gold bars. He whistled as he looked it over; seemed to be legitimate. He turned it over… and his blood ran cold.

_By order of the Katrine, of the Black Arm Gang,_

_this note only good if turned in along with _

_the skull and armor of one, Geoffrey Dawnsen._

_For further information, contact the Black Arm._

"…Shit." He slowly, deliberately closed his eyes and thought, hard. _Peter! Peter Bailey, where are you?_ There was silence. Geoff sighed and pocketed the note, wondering how many were in circulation.

_Ah, Geoff. I was wondering when you'd find it._

The arrogant, calm, ever-amused voice of the postmaster sounded in his mind, and Geoff turned towards the farm to the East. It would be a bad idea to stand there, deep in telepathic communication, when the highwayman re-spawned again. Hopping the fence, he wandered into the small farmhouse and past the sleeping sheep dog. As he sprawled across an empty rocking chair, he reached out mentally again.

_Pete, what's going on? Is this some new event or something?_

Far too smugly for Geoff's liking, he replied _Or something. The first step was you with the fifty daggers, the second was the chase. This is the third._

He swore out loud, and forced his mental voice to calm. _Okay, so there's a huge price on my head. Is this event indefinite, or what?_

_I don't know; it's being shaped by you guys. But you should know that every criminal in Asgarnia is dropping these notes. _Incredulous, Geoff couldn't even find a proper swear, and Postman Pete continued. _I think you might have to kill Katrine, or something._

_Oh, lovely. Is there any way around it?_

_I don't know. Maybe it'll end when you finish the quest or something. In the meantime, watch your back. There's clans roaming for you._

…_Thanks, Pete._

_I'll see you around, Geoff. Take care._

Sighing, Geoff stood, the chair banging loudly against the wall. The sheepdog looked at him reproachfully from the corner, and he rolled his eyes. The cows brayed from the pasture outside, and the warrior swore, shouting at the top of his lungs as he kicked down the door. The handful of players outside glanced up briefly, then went back to arguing over hides.

Geoff yanked the axe off of his back and got to work. Before long, he had a full load of hides and beef, and turned to the South, towards Port Sarim. It was more the sweat than the meat itself, really. The physical toll of swinging the huge axe, the concentration of battle, the simple rhythm; he felt a lot better as he made his way through the little copse of trees towards the small town. The sun was going down to his right, and the red light was nearly blinding, despite the shade of the trees. He was glad to make it into the town, and quickly made his way through the well-weathered cottages to the nearest stove.

There was a figure lurking in the shadows, and Geoff slipped as quietly as he could into the house, closing the door behind him. The man and woman barely looked twice at him; they were used to people barging in for the use of their stove. He nodded to them both and went into the kitchen, slapping the first steak onto the range. The meat hissed, a little too loudly for his tastes, and he quickly glanced up at the window. Dropping down the second piece, Geoff reached across and drew the curtains across, shivering.

As he finished cooking, voices sounded in the outer room. He cocked an ear to listen, wondering. "I don't know, I haven't seen anyone yet."

An intelligible voice answered, and he heard laughter.

The clear voice rang again, and he noticed the darker tone, the more oily nature. "Well, I think he'll be coming this way for the goblin, and he has to come through at least for the ship."

This time, a woman's voice answered. "It's a lot of money, Tim."

Not waiting to hear more, Geoff slipped quietly over to the window and pushed it open, wincing at every creak. They didn't seem to hear him, though, and he quickly hoisted himself up to the opening. One minute later, he was sprinting South, outside the village bounds. He passed the fishmonger, the statute, and was passing the food store when he heard the shout from behind him.

He sped up, nearly breaking down the jail door as he shoved through, slamming it behind him. The guards looked up, and a few prisoners muttered. Geoff glanced back and forth wildly before seeing the ladder on the other end of the room. Muttering a swift prayer to Saradomin under his breath, he sprinted across, grabbed the topmost rung, and half ran up the ladder to the top floor.

One of the guards frowned. "And wha'r you doin' 'ere, then?" Geoff glanced up, recognized the man, and shook his head.

"In a second," he panted, scanning the room for—there!

"And wha's tha for?"

Grabbing the heaviest rock he could see, Geoff crept back over to the ladder and waited, holding his breath. He heard the door open, and the quiet, stealthy footsteps of a thief. Gripping the rock tightly, he waited. Voices sounded, but he couldn't hear what they said. The footsteps went on, and his hands shook.

Then, finally, he saw something below, a black shape against the wood of the ladder. He waited another moment, to hear the creak of the wood, and dropped the stone, putting a fair amount of force behind it. There was a sickening crack, a thud as the body fell, and then silence.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Deepest apologies for my long hiatus. I seriously had so much going on…the summer was a lot more busy than I thought it would be, with work and stuff, and as soon as I started school this year, stuff started piling up. That's what happens when you take three AP courses and apply for college at the same time. Anyway, back to the good stuff. _

_In this chapter, Geoff employs NPC tactics to obtain the first piece of the map, and a few old… friends… catch up. Also, I get around to replying to my reviewers._

Chapter Ten

A heavy hand dropped onto his shoulder, and the scent of stale beer permeated the air, almost making him gag. He stood, calmly removing the gloved hand.

"Wha're you doin' 'ere?"

"I was being chased by a thief. Jail seemed like a logical refuge."

The ginger guard shrugged. "Oh, arigh' then. You gotta reas'n fer bein' in Sarhim?" His breath felt disgustingly hot on Geoff's face, and he suppressed a shudder.

"Not really. Just passing through." He turned back to the ladder. "Take care, Joey."

The guard nodded as Geoff grabbed the ladder rung and swung himself down, neatly avoiding the pile of bones at the bottom of the trapdoor. The prisoners were still silent, and he wove around the random objects on the floor to the cell where a green-skinned goblin sat, sneering at him from the floor.

"Wormbrain?"

"Jeff-man know who Wormbrain be. What Jeff-man want?"

"I believe you stole something from a wizard, a while ago." Wormbrain nodded impassively. "I want it."

"Why should Wormbrain give Jeff-man teared map paper? Jeff-man on outside cell, Wormbrain safe." The goblin scooted over a few feet anyway, and Geoff grinned.

"You're not safe. Not even close."

Wormbrain squinted. "How Jeff-man mean that? Jeff-man need be to near Wormbrain to attack."

"Oh, that's what you think, is it?

"Yeah, it what me thinking."

Geoff grinned widely, showing his teeth, and stepped up close to the bars, fingering the heavy lock. "You don't know, do you?" Wormbrain shook his head, looking more and more nervous. Kind of. It's a bit hard to tell with goblins. "I can break this lock open. With ease. And get in, and get you. I don't even need to kill you – I can just leave you there to bleed while I run off with your map."

The goblin stood, slowly, and picked up the pan in the corner of his cell. "Jeff-man should try. Wormbrain him handle."

Geoff glanced towards the end of the long hall, where two guards watched out of the corners of their eyes—or so it was assumed. Normally, that wouldn't phase him, but with every criminal and half the players in Asgarnia on his tail, a low profile wasn't a bad idea. Damn – he could've used the blood right now, too.

"You've got me. How much do you want for it?"

Wormbrain grinned, and folded his arms ominously. "Two thousand gold."

Geoff sighed. "Two thousand?"

"Yeah. Wormbrain know Jeff-man can afford."

"…You little slime-ball." He turned and left; a glob of spit from the thief's cell barely missed his cape. The goblin's rasping laughter followed him out the door.

He stopped short of the door, peering out the window for a moment. The scene appeared deserted, but one really couldn't tell, there were always more players than you could see. He sighed, put one hand on the door, and then whirled, hurling his axe straight for the sitting goblin behind him. Dead on hit. A loud crack resounded through the jail, as the axe pinned Wormbrain to the stone wall behind him. Geoff shook his head and walked over to the cell door. It took him a moment to pick the lock, and he walked in. The map was under Wormbrain's armor, of course, and he vowed to sterilize his hands the first chance he got as he left the jail again.

There weren't any players around when he got out, but he stuck to the shores all the same. No point in taking unnecessary risk, and the only time players came to the shore was to fish. He walked south until he found the small island near the chapel. Not much more than a bit of rock, really, but players couldn't reach it. He swam out the ten feet, and pulled himself on shore with a heavy sigh. This place wasn't too far from Thurgo's hut, so he kept an eye out for Blurite carrying players, but the world was one of the fewer populated ones, so he might be safe for now.

His armor was relatively clean, but he was… well, less so. He stripped his armor, then down to the waist, and slipped into the relatively warm water. (Well, at least it was warmer than most of the shorelines—not as warm as Karamja, but still about as far South as you could get on Asgarnia.) The gulls cried overhead every now and then, but he mostly ignored them. When they started screaming in chorus, that was when he had to watch it. Players couldn't usually hear the animals, too busy killing or something. For the Nth time, he was exceedingly glad of his status.

Finally, feeling a lot better—and a lot stronger—he swam back into the island and pulled on his armor. It took him a second to register the gulls, and he swore under his breath as he girded his axe and helmet.

When he looked back up, there were two girls there, staring at him. One had a shock of pink hair that stuck out at all directions, and the other had a long green braid. They were both fairly low-level—twelve, for one, and fourteen for the other. He sighed with relief and swam back to shore.

"Lyk omg Kerry wat is that?" The pink-haired girl, Dimond128, examined him, and so did her friend Kerry26.

"I dont kno dim!!! Do u think hes a qest?"

Geoff winced. "I'm a Random Event, actually. I'm involved in a quest right now, but neither of you are high enough to touch me, so just be on your merry way, now." He grinned wolfishly and swung his axe off of his shoulder. They backed up.

"Lets just go" Dimond continued on to Thurgo's hut, and her friend followed suit.

Sighing again, Geoff walked down towards the fishing spot. He took out the map as he walked, looking carefully over it. This was an interesting quest indeed. It would've been useful, to be able to read maps… he sighed. Didn't help that it was a Krandor map, and one he'd only ever be able to learn from home. Of course. With a touch of resign, he strapped his axe back onto his back and set off in a brisk jog along the coast.

"Geoffrey!" As he passed Mudskipper Point he turned, hearing his name behind him, and saw Thurgo hurrying over, out of his hut.

"Thurgo, mate! How's the anvil treating you?"

The dwarf caught up and grinned at him through his heavy beard. "The anvil is as fiery and the steel as cold as ever, my friend. Where are you headed in such a hurry?"

He grimaced. "Rimmington. Haven't you heard? There's an immense bounty on my head. I'm looking for a little peace and quiet before I continue this quest, and—well. No one ever goes to Rimmington."

"Ah, Rimmington. What will you do there? Unless I'm much mistaken, the price will still be there when you go, and the Black Arms still out for your blood."

"Regroup, I guess." Geoff closed his eyes a moment, sighing. "And see Hetty. She might be able to help me out a bit, and she owes me a favor, from that last council."

Thurgo nodded, and turned to go, then paused. "I wish you well then, Geoff. You know, if ever you had the incline, I'd pay well for anyone willing to take a spell in the mines for me."

"Surely you jest, my friend," he grinned.

"Ha! As you must know, dwarves have no sense of humor whatsoever."

Geoff let out a roar of laughter. "Of course not! Folly, folly." He shook his head. "I thank you for the offer, Thurgo, but the mines are…eh. Mining is hard, backbreaking work, best left to skill-grinders and… well, dwarves. No offense."

Thurgo shook his head, chuckling. "None taken. You'd make a poor dwarf, Geoffrey. But as far as humans go, you're not so bad. Take care, and good luck with your quest."

"The same to you, mate." Geoff grinned down at his friend, saluted, and continued his run up to the small town of Rimmington.

The most dangerous part of the trip was the fishing points—always a lot of players around there. But he made it through alright, and by nightfall, found himself in Rimmington, the one-horse town with almost no purpose to most people. He passed Hetty's basement door, ignoring the loud moaning coming from beneath, and walked up to the well in the center of town. After a moment of indecision, he headed into the general store and climbed up the ladder. He selected one of the softer looking sacks and lay down on the table, falling asleep nearly as soon as he closed his eyes. Outside, the tree-frogs made their usual chorus heard; it was the only sound in the air as Geoff drifted off.

When he woke up early the next morning, things were considerably less quiet. Voices, growing angrier and angrier, drifted up from the street, and he only stayed for a moment to listen.

"Well, why didn't you just attack him while he was sleeping? You probably could've killed him right then!" The first voice, gruff and angry, he recognized as Thor's, an up and coming assassin when he'd been growing up, now vaguely known as a mercenary leader.

"I was alone! If I'd attacked him, he'd just have jumped up and killed me before I could take him out, and probably gotten away before you'd showed up!" The second voice was a lot younger, and he didn't recognize it.

"Whatever. The point is, we've got him now. There's only one door out, and there's enough of us to make this a more than even fight. We can go up in waves, like we'd planned, and take him out quickly."

Geoff groaned quietly and slipped off the table, creeping, bent double, over to the window. Outside, gathered between the well and the door, were about twelve people, mingled players and NPCs, all very high-level. Thor stood in the center of the group, in full rune armor, and the rest were gathered around. He recognized Lucas, who'd been a friend when they were street-rats, and several of the gang's high-ranking assassins. He listened carefully to the conversation and gathered that they'd been scouring every town and questioning every player and NPC to track him down. It had been the Customs Sergeant who'd seen him come in. They would have… Words… later, about that.

If, that is, he survived. He slipped away from the window and began to plan. Clearly, the first thing to do was block the windows—which he did, quickly, with the crates stacked in various places. Then, he got the idea to check the back windows… which were unguarded.

He shook his head in disbelief. Did they ever learn? But… Thor was hardly a fool. That would be his last resort, he decided. With any luck, he'd be able to handle them. He pulled the table over to the ladder, and began to stack boxes on it. As he pulled a torch off of the wall and sat down next to the trapdoor, a loud voice cut through the uneasy quiet in the attic.

"Take him out!" Geoff jumped up and tipped one crate to look out the window, and saw three players disappearing into the door of the store. Of course he'd use the players first. Two of them were in mithril armor, one wielding a two-handed rune sword, and the other a mithril scimitar, but that hardly mattered for the moment, since the first one headed up was the wizard of the wave, wearing full robes, of course. He grinned wickedly, lit the first box (Newcomer Maps), and dropped it down the hatch.

There was a loud whoosh kind of noise as the box hit, and the ladder caught fire as the wizard fell to the floor with a loud 'thud' and a lot of crackling. Geoff allowed himself a dark smile as the green-haired spell-caster sprinted out of the store, his robes afire.

"You'll pay for that!" Thor's loud voice cut through the two warriors' attempts to douse the ladder, but Geoff only laughed. He stopped laughing when the sound of a water strike came through, and glanced down to see the wizard, charred but alive, putting out the flames.

Soon after, the first warrior's head poked through the hatch. Geoff swung his axe, but unfortunately, the players couldn't be killed so simply. Fifteen hitpoints down, though, he finished the climb—and then twenty-three, as Geoff swung again. The fighter attacked back, the only way Players even could, and Geoff stopped it with his shield and countered with a downward chop, glancing off of his plate armor.

As he twisted the blow to the side, cutting into the warrior's rib-cage, and taking off another eight points, the second man climbed up. He quickly jumped into the fight with his scimitar, taking a good six hitpoints off of Geoff as he nicked the Random's shoulder-joint.

Unfortunately for him, he was then alone, as Geoff finished off the first warrior with a swinging arc, which he was too busy trying to eat to avoid.

Unfortunately for Geoff, as he turned his attention to the second man, the wizard's head poked out, next to the ladder.

Unfortunately for the wizard, Geoff had no qualms about fairness, especially not in a fight outnumbered this badly, and therefore didn't hesitate to take a step backwards and kick out like a mule, badly injuring her. He took a scimitar blow in the neck for it, thanking his luck that it didn't take his head off, and quickly turned back to the battle at hand, swinging down viciously with his axe on the man's scimitar-arm, while he pulled back from the last hit.

It was a direct hit, and, if he'd been an NPC, would've taken his arm off. As it stood, the blow merely injured the Player by fourteen hitpoints. The counter from the scimitar scratched against his shield, and Geoff swore loudly as the wizard appeared next to him, anger fueling his next stab, which actually knocked the man back a step, as well as taking off another eighteen hitpoints.

The first spell, a Fire Blast, left a scorched hole in his armor. Geoff roared with rage and whirled on the hapless wizard, easily deflecting the scimitar blow to his right with his axe. The wizard gulped, terrified, and fired again, this time scoring a hit on his left shoulder, the same that had already been injured.

Snarling, Geoff raised his axe and swung downward, easily tearing a nasty gash through the Combat Robes, down along her shoulder to her torso, and taking off nearly a third of her hitpoints. She cried out in pain, but still raised her staff and fired the next blast. Geoff swung again, and sliced through her right shoulder and upper arm. Seeing red, he didn't even feel the scimitar stab him in the arm, or the spell that failed, splashing harmlessly against his helmet. He only swung again, finishing the wizard.

As she crumpled to the floor, he turned again to the scimitar-wielding warrior, not sparing a second glance for Pixy1264, who faded from the floor even as he thrust his shield forward against the pain, blocking the scimitar and giving him an opening to slice the neck again, which he did. He followed it up with a kick, knocking DudeWestQ83 back a step and nearly killing him. The next blow from the axe did finish him, but Geoff was far from finished with the fight, as footsteps on the ladder sounded even before the man's body had faded.

The moment of calm, though, robbed him of his rage for a moment, and he felt quite suddenly the stabbing pain in his injured shoulder, and the sting where the spells had hit. This was not going to end well. He quickly grabbed the torch from the table and knocked another crate down with it, momentarily gratified by the yelp of pain and the crash. Unfortunately, he knew the trick wouldn't last forever—and neither would he.

With a resigned sigh, he grabbed the end of the table farthest from the hatch with his good arm, and thrust upwards, dumping the entire table full of boxes—all of rather flammable materials—down into the hatch, effectively blocking it, and dropped the torch onto the top of the pile, an open box of empty wooden buckets. Grimacing with pain, he walked over to the windows by both sides of the building, and, seeing no assassins, picked up a length of rope he'd found in the shelves and fastened bars of a window on the back wall of the attic. As he punched through the glass, as quietly as he could manage, Thor's voice echoed up into the warehouse.

"Trying to buy some time, Geoff? It won't help. Do yourself a favor and come on out, old friend." Geoff shook his head and tested the rope once before slipping out the window, feet first, and rappelling down the side of the building. Unfortunately, his left shoulder gave up, and he landed painfully on his back. It took him just a moment to get up, but that was a moment too long. He heard the whoosh of a water spell, and the crates being knocked aside, and turned, shouldering his axe, to run. He cleared the fence and took off. No use in the Chemist's—it was the first place Thor would look.

Clearing the fence on the other side, he saw the island. If he could make it with his arm, it was probably his best chance. He sighed, closed his eyes for a moment as he heard the shouts behind him, and leapt into the water. Fortunately for him, the riptide was fairly strong, and he was quickly pulled onto the island. He pulled ashore and sprinted across, throwing himself down on the other side of the bank—momentarily hidden.

It was a few hours, still, and fully high noon, before the sounds of the searchers disappeared, and all was silent at last. Geoff lay back, as his shoulder had finally stopped bleeding, and sighed. He needed to face this, clearly, somehow. Soon.

With a shiver, he crawled around the island, peering around carefully before coming into sight of the shore, and swam back to the mainland. It took a bit of time, against the tide, but he made it, and stood there for a moment, enjoying the warm sunlight, before turning North.

He passed Melzar's Maze along the shore, but was in no condition to even consider facing the place, and continued, rather disheartened. He was careful around the hobgoblin's peninsula, and headed briefly East, into the small field of cabbage and onions that was there. Never anyone's first choice for a meal really, but he really couldn't afford the pride right now, so he stuffed his face with the stuff, ignoring the grit that clung to the food, until the sting from the spells went away. Unfortunately, the wound in his shoulder was a bit too much to be cured by raw vegetables, so he left the field when it had at least subsided to a dull ache, and headed straight north, towards Falador.

The White City was a fairly uppity city, and thieves were… well, discouraged. Normally, Geoff stayed away if he didn't have business there; problems with the White Knights, years ago, had given him a bit of a reputation there. But chances were that, given the attitude, he wouldn't run into many thieves there, meaning he'd have a better chance to stay low for a while. Lots of crowds, too, which usually helped disappear.

By sunset, he could see the bright walls through the trees, and shivered slightly. He'd been lucky so far, no one around. He'd traveled the whole way off-road. Although he could take on the highwaymen fairly easily, he'd rather not deal with them and risk more wounds. It only cost him a few hours to make his way through the wood, avoiding the crossroads, and as far as he was concerned, it was time well-spent. The only person in sight was a lone backpacker, as he neared the city.

Geoff crept quietly, as close as possible—much easier in the gathering darkness—and then jumped the traveler. He was quick, neatly severing the man's head before he had the time to do much more than shout and swing wildly with his staff. He dropped a few coins, as an apology for when the man re-spawned, on the ground where the body had faded, before swinging himself up into a tree a little farther along the wall, out of sight of the battle. He disliked killing non-combatant civilians. Besides being messy and risky, well, it made him feel guilty. Weird, given none of the gods seemed to really care about murder one way or the other, but true.

It took him a while to find a niche that he was sure he wouldn't fall out of, and secure himself, but as soon as he'd found a spot with only a few uncomfortable knots, he fell asleep quickly. It had been a long, long day, and he wasn't promised another good rest any time soon.

As secure as he'd been the prior evening, Geoff nearly fell out of the tree when he awoke the next day, wakened by voices not too far off. He sighed and closed his eyes. Fortunately, it turned out to be just two players arguing—about the location of the nearest Elemental Temple, no less. When their voices had faded, he swung down out of the tree, wincing as his stiff and sore muscles hit the ground. It took him a few minutes to stretch out, feeling his body loosen up, and he turned back to the East, towards the gate.

---

_So yeah, reviews. Thank you very much, guys! Your feedback is much appreciated.  
**cody: **Thank you! I don't use real accounts in my stories, though; too much complication with character. If I used someone's account, I'd be worrying constantly that I hadn't been true to the person. Thanks anyway, though, and I'm really glad you liked the story!  
**mainiac:** Thanks! I usually rely on word of mouth to get my stories out, because I feel like I'm encroaching on other people's stories if I advertise there. Also, it's not the number of reviews so much as if the people who -are- reviewing are enjoying the story, or how I'm feeling about the quality. I'd rather put out a good story that ten people like and review than a piece of crap that a thousand people gush over. It's a failing, but that's life, eh?  
**shocker:** Yeah, Runescape is interesting-- there's no real plot or anything, it's entirely what you make of it. I haven't played WoW, I'm honestly really not into mmorpgs, just something about this story piqued my interest, and I like the characters enough to keep up with it. Good luck with WoW, though!  
**cazcat:** Thanks. My account is level 50. I won't friend you, if you don't mind; I usually only play Runescape when I'm working on this story, as a reference. You might see me around, though, I usually dress in all skeleton armor (don't know how many people do that... heh. It just looks so cool!) Congratulations on being level 70, though, it's not easy to get that high. Good job.  
**tales of smash**: Thank you! The battle scene, I think, was my favorite thing to write throughout this story so far. I'm looking forward to jumping back into battles soon; the action isn't always fun to write, but I think I've been a bit too plot-heavy lately. Thanks though! I do like to write, maybe someday when my life settles down and I trust my style a little more, I'll try and throw something published out there. *grin* But then, that's the goal of most of this website, I think. Thank you anyways, and I will try to keep the scenes in that vein a little more. _


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Well, it's taken me a while to catch up, but now that I am caught up again, things should return to a more regular schedule. Anyway, in this chapter Geoff seeks refuge in the White City, pulls a Pg-13 (at best) stunt and gets caught, and explains to his girlfriend why the White Knights don't really like him all that much._

Chapter Eleven

Geoff reached the Southern gate of Falador mid-morning, probably around ten o'clock, he figured. There was a small, bright blue object on the ground, like a badly shaped ball, glinting dully in the morning light. It had a surprising weight in his hand as he stooped to pick it up, and he tested it, smiling as he went through the gates and turned west, tossing the uncut sapphire from hand to hand like a juggler as he walked. It was a good start to the day; perhaps today would be a lucky one. The small area around the well was deserted, and he stopped to pull up the bucket and take a quick drink, scanning the rise across the lake as he did so- still no players.

He walked into the sparsely furnished house next door, and retrieved ten coins, which he put on the shelf over the bed. Another good luck charm, because although signs were good, you could never be too safe. Almost immediately, he heard a flapping noise, accompanied by a rather quiet chattering, outside, and smiled. Unlikely as it might seem, imps were good luck, not bad, to the resident thieves. He left the house, closing the door behind him. Past the chainmail shop and through the ankle-high grass, he was at the gem shop in ten minutes.

Geoff had already decided not to sell the sapphire; it was a good luck charm, after all, and besides, he'd never liked Herquin. The man was, bluntly put, a pompous ass. He spoke condescendingly, had a mean streak a mile wide, and what's more, his inflation was unbelievable. In fact, he really wanted to stop and snag a few more sapphires, so he could actually juggle, but that… well, that was a spectacularly bad idea. Geoff was always rather impulsive, foolhardy, and often downright rebellious. But he wasn't an idiot, and personal grudges could wait until every denizen of Asgarnia wasn't hunting the price on his skull. Making a wry face, he walked past the shop and up into the main square. There were a few people around, wandering, but it was mainly guards.

Sighing with relief, he turned into the Rising Sun and walked over to the bar, leaning up against the counter. "Hey, Emily."

The blond bartender turned and flashed him a smile. "Heya, Geoff! What can I get you?"

"Actually, I'm looking for Thodrek—but I will have a pair of Dwarven Stouts, thank you." He handed her a few coins and took his drink, putting them into that special extra-dimensional pocket called an inventory.

"Thodrek? Hmm." She thought for a moment, then nodded. "He hasn't been in for a few days, but you should be able to find him in the mines. Watch out, though—there are a bunch of nasty looking Players mining today."

"Thanks, Emily. If you see him, let him know I'll be in the garden, alright?" She nodded, and he smiled back. "Thank you," and left, heading back east down the path to the garden.

Fairly shortly, he arrived in the beautiful garden of Falador, where few players ventured on free servers, except to buy Woad leaves. He walked past the bridge, over to the bench, and sprawled over it lengthwise, yawning. The tree hadn't exactly given him a great night's sleep. He dozed, wakened a few times by shouting matches that carried over from the bank, but otherwise simply napping in the sunlight, enjoying a few minutes' rest before his life caught up with him again.

As noon approached, Geoff stretched and stood up, getting a little blood back into his limbs. He stretched out one last time, and turned east, heading for the break in the northern side of the fence. He pulled out the sapphire again and started to toss it from hand to hand, wishing he had another to juggle. Squeezing through the opening beside the fence, he felt a sudden wave of chill, as the shade of the city's wall blocked out the warm sun.

Ignoring the loud music emanating from the checkered building, Geoff continued around the back of the Party Hall, towards the staircase to the mines. A wave of musty air, laden with coal dust and the smell of rocks and sweat and… something foreign, flowed from the opening of the stairs. He slipped down into the deep black and was met by a wave of loud clicking noises. It took him a few moments to adjust his eyes to the darkness, at which point the clicking noises resolved themselves into arachnid-shaped things, scuttling around the rocks with pincers up, menacing and menaced. Geoff remembered Karl's words and grinned to himself before shouldering his axe and walking coolly through the mass, ignoring the beasts. The players ignored him, bent on beating that next rock of coal, and the other man going for it.

"Geoff!" The dwarf through the gates grinned at him, raising a hand in salute and swinging the iron gate open. Geoff slipped through and pulled it shut behind him.

"Hey, Thod. I was looking for you." He leaned up against the cold stone walls, letting out a deep sigh.

Thod frowned, concernedly, and shouted something at a miner who came to the gates, then turned to leave, annoyed. "Wha's on yer mind, mate? Y' don' look s'good."

"Well, it's a long story—but the upshot is that there's a price on my head, literally, and every thief or rogue in Asgarnia's dropping tickets." He closed his eyes and let his head rest on the stalagmite. "And just in case that isn't enough, they've got small bands of Black Arm assassins roaming my trail."

Thod groaned and shook his head. "Geoff, Geoff, wha'd ye ge' yerself into?" He sighed. "No ma'er. M' shift's o'er in—Now, actually." Another, slightly taller and more brawny, dwarf walked towards them from the guild entrance. "Gan, y' remember Geoffrey, aye?"

The other nodded, and they shook hands. Thod gave him a wry grin. "'E's go' 'imself into some sort o' trouble wi' th' old gang from V'rock."

Gan raised an eyebrow. "Aye? Ye don' wan' t'be messin' abou' wi' those, Geoffrey. 'Fore ye know, ye'll wind up'n more trouble'n ye can fight yer way outta."

Geoff nodded and gave him a sheepish smile. "Aye, thanks, Gan. I'll keep that in mind next time." Thod opened the gate and gestured, and Geoff followed him through. "Take care."

They headed back out into the common territory. As Thod turned to go up the stairs, a sudden, quickly hidden gleam caught Geoff's eye, and he turned towards the center of the room. Thod gave him a curious look as he bent and reached into a narrow crevasse behind a small vein of iron; he rolled his eyes as the tall warrior straightened with a wide grin, holding a bluish pebble, covered with shale dust.

"I think my luck is turning, mate," he grinned as he followed the dwarf up the stairs, out of the small building. "Second one I've found today."

Thod rolled his eyes, amused, as Geoff continued to carefully wipe away the dust on the second sapphire, polishing it to a deep blue shine. "Aye, wha'e'er ye say, Geoff. Jes' try'n keep up, aye?" He led the way over to a ladder on the wall, and they climbed up on top of the long structure. "We won' be 'eard as easily up 'ere. Now, wha' th' 'ellfire 've ye done?"

And so, Geoff told him the whole story, start to bloody end, and when he was done, Thodrek was shaking his head. "Geoff, Geoff, this ain't a nice li'l tale ye've told me. 'Ow're we gonna ge' ye outta this'n?" Geoff shook his head helplessly, and Thod sighed. "Now, th' way I see't, ye've go'…" he paused, grinned, and nodded. "I've go't. Ye've go' two choices, aye? Ye c'n make yer way up t' V'rock as a fugitive an' negotiate some kind o' truce wi' Katrine, or… ye c'n save th' assassins th' trouble an' 'ave yer skull delivered free o' charge."

Geoff frowned for a moment, and then a light dawned on his face, and he broke out into laughter. "You're a genius, Thod! The only problem is proving it—and finding the skull, I suppose. But still—beautiful plan. Remind me I owe you one, mate." He pulled the Dwarven Stout from his inventory and handed it to his friend with a wide grin. "I meant to give you this earlier. Now—" he fumbled for a moment before producing a length of rope. "It's probably not a good idea to take the gate out, it's getting later and the players will start swarming."

Thodrek nodded. "Aye. There's always th' Wilds, aye?" Grinning beneath his heavy beard, the dwarf raised his tankard as Geoff tested the rope and prepared to leap over the edge. "An' may ye live t' come back an' spin th' tale fer me, mate."

Geoff raised a hand in salute. "I'll do my best, Thod. Take care of yourself, aye?" He grinned back at the dwarf and let go with his heels, leaping backwards over the edge of the wall. In a few moments of rappelling, he was on the ground. A moment later, the end of the rope tumbled down after him, and he coiled it carefully and stowed it in his inventory.

The wall extended as far as he could see in both directions; to his left, a giant spider scuttled through the tall grass, glaring at him. It made no moves, though, and he turned towards it, and started moving north, alongside the towering white wall. As he left the wall, turning into the steep valley that led up to the Barbarian Village, the sun began to set to his left. Geoff closed his eyes briefly and swore. He'd never make it through without being seen. Sighing, he sat down heavily on the grassy slope and swore again. The only way to pass here into the wild was—

And then he laughed. It was the perfect plan! The one place no one would be able to look for him. The only downside was that it would be cold—also, not a good idea to get caught. Grinning, Geoff turned to the east and climbed up the side of the hill. He turned two small blue stones over in his hands as he did, like charms against the wolves which seemed to chase him over every edge. He smiled, wryly, as he walked, and began to toss the stones from hand to hand.

"Of course, to properly juggle them," he said aloud, "I'd need three. But two will do for now, I'm so rusty." Briefly, he entertained the notion that he was going mad, and laughed again.

The sun had set, and dusk had passed; it was fully night by the time he reached the river's edge, just out of sight of the bridge. Unfortunately, Geoff hadn't factored in the night cold, or the wind, to his plan. Not that it mattered, really, at this point. Loud voices echoed from the village, despite the distance, and he sighed.

Setting his teeth, Geoff put away his axe and shield, and began to remove his armor. Despite his resolve, he looked around a few times in the dark before pulling off his shirt as well, and, shivering now, his pants and shoes. Completely nude, his inventory nice and dry, the cold, tired, completely naked warrior slid the last few feet of mud, and slid into the river, completely awkwardly and with a loud splash to accompany him.

The river wasn't very deep—just barely enough depth to cover him lying down, in fact. Swearing again, Geoff waded up until he could see the village over the banks, and knelt in the cold water, on the stones. Using the boulders for cover, he pulled himself forward, against the current, until he was in a suitable swimming depth. It was just deep enough here, and he took a deep breath and began to pull himself forward, using the stones and mud on the bottom. He wanted to swim, just get out, but couldn't risk the splashes. His lungs began to hurt under the pressure, and he let a little bit of air go.

There were voices overhead, very vaguely, but he couldn't make them out through the water. His lungs seemed to be shrinking in his chest, and he nearly let all the breath go as a stray trout slammed into his face. The voices grew louder, though, as he went forward, and he was afraid to come up for breath. Fortunately, the next time he reached forward, his hand bumped against a long wooden brace, and he pulled himself up under the bridge, and broke the surface there, gasping desperately.

One of the fishers shouted, but when they looked again, the mysterious figure was gone, back underwater, swimming now, as the water grew deeper. He made headway faster, pulling past the fishing spots and up north, feeling the water grow colder around him. Despite the cold, Geoff pushed forward, not coming up for air again until he noticed the square stones around him, which indicated that he'd entered Edgeville.

He pulled into a clump of bulrushes and dragged himself onto the muddy bank, panting and shivering and huddling, and managed to pull himself up against the stone ruins. It provided a little shelter against the wind, and he closed his eyes against the cold, fumbling for his trousers in that lovely extra-dimensional pocket of inventory, until a voice shocked him out of his small, shaking world.

"…Geoffrey?"

The voice was all too familiar, and he was afraid to look up. Instead, he swore through his chattering teeth, quietly, firmly, and in several different languages.

"Um, I… you—I'll just… wait. On the other side… um, the other side, uh, of this wall. Right here."

"Uh, th-thanks." He finished pulling on his pants and stood up. "S-s-sorry I m-missed lunch."

Gina smiled and shook her head. "It's okay, really! Do you want to have dinner, instead? Looks like you could do with a hot meal."

He pulled on his shirt and grinned back at her. "That I could, and probably more than one. Thank you." It only took him a moment more to pull on his armor and follow her through the stone ruins. They reached the store a few minutes later, and found the old man who ran the store fast asleep. Gina grinned at him.

"Alright, let's go upstairs. I've got some stew, it just needs to be heated up, and it looks like that would be just about perfect right now." He nodded and followed her upstairs, taking a seat by the table.

"So…" the brunette glanced over her shoulder as she poured the two bowls on the range, "If you don't mind a bit of curiosity, what were you doing… um, you know… in the river…?"

He made a wry face. "It's a long story. I'm kind of being hunted by this old gang, from when I was a kid, and they put out a notice—"

"Oh!" She turned, wiping her hands. "The note of gold bars? Yeah, I heard about that. Didn't know it was for your skull, though." She sighed. "Geoff, that's some pretty dangerous stuff. No one saw you come here, right?"

"Well, that's why I swam up the river." He pulled the sapphires from his pocket and began to toss them back and forth in wide arcs. "I took off my clothes because it's always below freezing at night, up here, and I didn't want to be completely soaked." He smiled at her. "I'll take off if anyone comes out, alright?"

"No, that's not what I meant—I just don't want you to be trapped here. It's not exactly an easy place to sneak out of, Edgeville." Behind her on the stove, soft streams of steam began to rise, twining around. She smiled back at the warrior. "I'd rather not see your skull in some player's hands."

He nodded, grinning. "Well, that's you and me both. But besides all of this, how's business? How's life?"

She laughed. "My life is boring, Geoff, and so is business. I want to hear about adventure. You lived with the Dwarves, right? Tell me about that."

Geoff leaned back in his chair and thought a moment, then grinned widely and nodded. "Alright, I've got stories from there. You know how they're always scrambling for cannons and cannonballs and the like, against the goblins, right?"

Gina nodded. "Yeah, I remember that."

"Well, this was maybe two or three years after I'd left the Temple, so I would've been… eighteen? Nineteen, probably. Anyway, I'd been mining with one of the journeymen, Doran, for a few weeks, and fighting off scorpions for him, carting loads of ore back and forth, lending a hand, just odd jobs. One day we got to talking about the huge demand for iron that'd cropped up all the sudden, and I decided to go figure out what was up. Well, my friend Thodrek, he's got a few more contacts than Doran or I had back then, so I asked him.

"That was a fun conversation," he laughed, remembering. "I asked him about it, and he told me about this cannon shortage that had started up, due to more roaming goblins being around lately. I was a little worried, but I couldn't think of any way to do anything, besides working double time on the iron hauls. Then, one day, I was working guard duty in Falador, and it came to me, all the sudden. Do you know the Knights?

"Yeah, we get groups of both coming through from time to time. I don't really like either fortress, to be honest." She tested the stew, and shook her head. "So?"

He nodded, grinning again. "I'm not fond of them, either. I've always been a bit of a rogue—Orders, like the Knights, tend to get to me. So I wasn't too fond of the White Knights before this, either, but they didn't know me too well." He paused, and tossed one of the sapphires into the air, putting a spin on it. "Now, we're pretty much mutually antagonistic. See, they've got cannons and cannonballs stockpiled in their fortress, and I'd been through every inch of that place at one point, looking for…" he paused, looking a bit sheepish. "Well, looking for loot."

She smiled reassuringly. "A Rogue indeed, then."

"…Yes, very much so." He shook his head. "Anyway, I knew there were tons of cannonballs up there, and I decided it was time for some Robin Hood stunts."

Gina laughed. "Redistribution of wealth in cannonball form?"

"Exactly!" He laughed back at her, turning over the blue stones in his hands again. "So I found a few Players who seemed to have a head on their shoulders, told them I'd pay well, and sent them off on a timed quest for some ropes, planks, and nails. Before you could blink, there was enough wood and fasteners for a good-sized raft. I told Doran and Thodrek my plan, and they and a few friends set about working, while I got myself a spade and took to hanging around the castle. I wanted to make sure I got the whole thing resolved right, so there was a lot of careful measuring things by eye, before I actually did anything.

"Hey, the stew's ready," she interrupted, putting a hot bowl of thick stew in front of him.

Geoff smiled. "It smells great, Gina. Did you put something extra in?"

She grinned and nodded. "Yeah, I find it adds some texture and variety if you throw in an onion and some cabbage, too. Sometimes, if we've got any, I'll add some chicken or turkey. It's all about experimenting."

He found himself wondering why he'd never tried experimenting with food. "I usually just throw something together, on the road… never really have time to go hunting for extra stuff." He gave her a sheepish smile and returned to turning over the round stones in his hand. "But it's really cool that you do, it looks so much more interesting then stew… well, you know. It's stew."

Gina laughed and took a bite. "Yep, and it's not bad, either."

Laughing, Geoff followed suit and broke out into a wide grin. "It's delicious, Gina!"

She beamed and nodded. "Thanks! I think it came out better than usual this time. Now, your story!"

Taking another bite, he continued. "But once I had everything worked out, the plan fell into place. Thodrek and Doran had finished the raft, and we'd been amassing ropes, a lot of them from sending players down to loot the highwaymen. It yielded pretty well, too, and didn't cost too much—an uncut emerald for ten coils, and soon enough we had the length we needed. The whole thing got put together just at dusk one night, during the winter for a longer darkness. We got a bunch of Doran's friends drunk and sent them with a ton of kebabs down to the gate, to keep the guards busy—before too long, the white knights were mostly going to bed, except for a few guards. That was the key, the few guards. The rest of the plan wouldn't have worked if they'd caught on. So I devised the last step—a genius stroke, if I do say so myself.

He grinned across the table at her and took another bite of the stew. "They have these suits of armor at every turn—I don't know why, some stupid arrogant display or other. I waited until no one was around, and quick-dressed myself into the same armor they wear. Then I rounded up the few guards who were still around and told them that there was some urgent problem on the Southern border, and we needed all the ammunition stockpiled on the South wall. Like lambs with chicken heads, they fell into place, and it worked even better than I thought! They didn't just leave me alone to carry all the cannonballs up, they helped me. I had to form an assembly line after a while, because you could hear the dwarves down outside the moat, carrying the raft over.

"Then we'd gotten about ten Players to dress in black armor and charge the front gate. All the little fleeced White Knights rushed down to stop the invasion, and I ran to and fro, shouting about the cause, the battle must be won! The dirty rogues cannot stand against the honorable warfare we wage!" His face took on an earnest, righteous-fury, fire-and-brimstone warrior look as he nearly chanted the words. Gina cocked an eyebrow. He shrugged and broke into a wry grin.

"Well, it's what they believe, isn't it? They fell into step, alright, and I slipped past the lines outside with my spade, and dug a trench from the wall, down to the coast. I could see Doran, Thodrek, and a five-dwarf team on the shore, pounding iron stakes into the ground past the wall, and a few steel loops on the wall itself. I took a few of the iron stakes we'd made the day before and made sure the raft had a place to moor, and then headed back up to the castle. They were still fighting, and I shouted encouragement all the way up to the stairs, where I backed up the case and ran along the ramparts, up to the stockpile. I'd been worried about the raft getting there in time, but Thodrek and his buddies Dwalin and Nori were there waiting for me.

"We didn't waste any time, I can tell you. I started dropping the cannonballs, Nori would block them with a pickaxe to slow them down—that dwarf is a _pillar_, seriously. I swear, he could've probably been catching the damn things. Anyway, he'd hold them back from the trench with his pick until the other two were ready, then let them roll down to where Dwalin would pick it up, and Thod would load it into the raft. We worked steady until the whole pile was gone, and took every last cannonball. I was worried the raft would sink too low in the water, but it held. As soon as we'd gotten it loaded—do you know how all the castles have those flags flying from every possible tower?"

Gina nodded.

"Nori threw me the extra length of rope I'd measured out, and I ran it all the way to the tower up front, where they have their big banner, secured it, and then let the end drop down next to the trench and slid down. As soon as we had the raft clear, I lit the end of the rope with a tinderbox and we pulled the mooring stakes and followed the other rope back to the wall. The burning flag was the signal to call off the invasion, which they did, and the whole troop of them ran off with the Knights thinking they'd beaten back the forces of Evil until they looked up and saw their standard in flames." Geoff grinned widely.

"It was a beautiful moment. They stood around gaping while we poled the raft back to the shore under the wall, lifted it over, and hauled the whole thing back into the dwarven complex, where we disassembled it immediately and started carting the cannonballs underground, out of sight. The players each got five quest points, an adamant pickaxe, and free passage to the Mining Guild—which was pretty big news to most of them, none of them were nearly high enough for that kind of mining. I was hauling cannonballs from the Guild to the Stronghold for weeks, but it was so worth it.

Gina laughed and shook her head. "That's incredible, Geoffrey! You'll have to introduce me to your dwarf friends someday. Anyway, do you want another bowl of stew? I think there's enough left for some more."

Geoff most definitely wanted another bowl of soup, and they sat and talked away the night, laughing and sharing tales and enjoying each other's company. And for just a few hours, Geoffrey the Axe, Random Event and Quest-In-Progress, fugitive from the Black Arm, was just a tired young warrior enjoying a date with his girlfriend, and the Shop Assistant of Edgeville was just Gina, a tired girl enjoying dinner with her boyfriend. And all was, for the moment, well.


End file.
